


I'm Not a Burglar, You're Not a Whore

by clearbluewater



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Sex, Anal Sex, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Hair Washing, Jealousy, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearbluewater/pseuds/clearbluewater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Thorin was first instead of last to Bag End? And what if Bilbo had been expecting someone completely different?</p><p>Bilbo Baggins may be a bachelor, but he still has needs. He has been corresponding with someone from Bree, and they have arranged a meeting at Bag End. Only when Bilbo opens the door, he hadn’t thought his partner was a dwarf. Or quite so handsome.</p><p>Or, that one where Bilbo mistakes Thorin for his hookup and Thorin isn’t quite sure what to make of his prospective burglar propositioning him for sex. Misunderstandings are had, hair beads are lost, and Gandalf is left wondering how those two could fuck things up quite so badly before the quest even starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been around in some form or another since I watched the first movie, but it's been an absolute bitch to get right for some reason.

            The glow of the rune was difficult to see in the midmorning light, but this was definitely the right house. Hole. Thorin knocked.

            A few moments later the door was opened by a small creature with furred feet, a deep blue waistcoat, and brown, almost auburn hair. Cute. If one was into that sort of thing. _So, this is the hobbit,_ Thorin thought.

            “Oh, I…erm…I wasn’t expecting you to be this early,” the hobbit said, adjusting his clothes and running a hand through his hair. He gave Thorin a nervous smile.

            Thorin inclined his head.

            “You’re…” the hobbit started, looking Thorin up and down. Small creases of confusion marred his face.

            “I’m what?” Thorin asked. He might have put a bit of menace in his tone. Well, a bit more than usual.

            “…not what I expected,” the hobbit finished in a murmur. “Not…not that it’s a bad thing, mind you!” the burglar said hurriedly.

            Thorin could hear the unspoken “I hadn’t thought you’d be a dwarf” as well as if the hobbit had shouted it. The hobbit fidgeted under Thorin’s glare.

            “Come in, come in, where are my manners,” the hobbit said after the silence had drawn on too long, motioning for Thorin to enter.

            Thorin surveyed the hobbit hole as he took off his cloak. Though both hobbits and dwarves lived underground, they had vastly different ways of going about it. There was more wood and soil here than metal and stone, but the fact that he was underground comforted Thorin nevertheless. He gave the hobbit his cloak, but did not surrender any of his weapons. Not with that unspoken dwarf comment hanging in the air.

            The hobbit was still staring at him. His eyes hadn't left Thorin since he had opened the door, and Thorin’s cloak was still in his hands. When Thorin looked at him, the hobbit blushed. He seemed to remember that he was still holding Thorin’s cloak, so he hung it up on a peg.

            Thorin circled the hobbit, giving him an inspection of his own. He did not seem to be a warrior at all. He didn’t look much like a burglar, either. He looked more like a grocer, to be honest. He didn’t look like he had lived a hard life of thievery, but rather what passed for luxury here. Either he was a very good burglar to acquire all of the wealth that his dwelling spoke of, or he was a rich dilettante looking for a bit of adventure.

            “Tell me, little hobbit,” Thorin said, a sneer in his voice as he started to circle the hobbit, “Have you done much fighting? Axe or sword? What’s your weapon of choice?”

            The hobbit looked at him blankly as if he could not fathom what on earth fighting had to do with anything, and Thorin scoffed internally.

            “Well, I do have some skill in conkers if you must know, but I fail to see why that’s…relevant,” the hobbit said, a confused frown on his face.

            “Thought as much,” Thorin said. There was a period of silence as the two stared at each other. The hobbit was the first to look down, blushing to the tips of his ears. Thorin had a royal’s training in staring people down, along with his natural talent.

            “Umm, would you like something to eat? I just sat down to second breakfast when you knocked…” the hobbit said. Thorin gave the hobbit a curt nod and allowed himself to be led into the kitchen.

            There was a plate of ham and eggs set out. Thorin sat down and tried to not eat too ravenously. He hadn’t had breakfast yet in his hurry to arrive, but apparently it was the hobbit’s second?

            The hobbit had seated himself beside Thorin and was watching Thorin eat.

            “Have you never seen a dwarf before?” Thorin asked. To his satisfaction, the hobbit jumped a bit.

            “It’s not that,” the hobbit said. “It’s just…you’re very handsome. More handsome that I had dared to hope.”

            Thorin paused in his chewing. What, did the hobbit pass the time imagining how handsome all of his prospective employers were? Thorin gave the hobbit a sideways look. He knew that he was attractive, but he had been told that his scowl did wonders for mitigating that.

“I know,” Thorin said, and resumed eating.

            The hobbit laughed at that. “And not a bit modest!” he said, his eyes crinkling. Thorin found himself mentally reevaluating if he was into cute things.

            “Did you find your way easy enough?” the hobbit asked, slipping back into small talk.

            “I lost my way. Twice,” Thorin grunted.

            “Oh my. Well, Hobbiton is bit of a maze until you get you used to it, I suppose,” he said.

            Thorin grunted in response.

            “Well, the weather sure is nice today,” the hobbit said, emphasizing his words with a slap on his thigh. He sounded a little desperate for conversation, so Thorin favored him by responding in actual words.

            “Aye. I hope the weather will hold on the journey.”

By now he had finished his breakfast and pushed the plate away. The little hobbit swooped in to clear it, seemingly grateful for something to do. Thorin took out his pipe and watched the hobbit bustle and fuss about in the kitchen, his eyes taking in things he hadn’t been looking for previously. Such as the way his trousers clung to him nicely and how he pushed his hair behind his strangely shaped ears. If the hobbit was offering, Thorin didn’t think he’d be refusing. There was the worry that it might make things awkward on the journey to Erebor, but it could also make it infinitely more pleasant. There was no proscription against dwarves taking comfort from each other— or hobbits, Thorin supposed—on long journeys, but if this were to happen Thorin would need to make it abundantly clear that it was just sex.

            The hobbit had come back from washing and putting up the dishes and sat down next to Thorin again, looking at Thorin as if he expected him to do something.

            “Master Hobbit—”

            “You can just call me Bilbo,” the hobbit said.

            “Bilbo,” Thorin amended. “Would you—”

            “Yes!” Bilbo exclaimed breathlessly, and kissed Thorin. The words “join my company” died on Thorin’s lips.

“I did not know that hobbits were such forward creatures,” Thorin said when they broke away, a slightly dazed expression on his face.

            Bilbo laughed, then climbed onto Thorin’s lap and gave him another searing kiss. Thorin’s hands roamed up and down Bilbo’s back, stopping to cup his bottom. Thorin detached from Bilbo’s lips to explore the intriguing shape of his ear while Bilbo nipped and sucked at his jawline.

            “Let’s go to the bedroom,” Bilbo whispered in Thorin’s ear. _Incredibly_ forward hobbit! He had been here for what, all of five minutes?

            “Are you sure?” Thorin asked.

            “Of course I’m sure! Why else would I have invited you here?”

            “What about the others?”

            “What others?” Bilbo said with a smile. He held Thorin motionless by the lapels of his coat and pressed a kiss to his nose. “It’s only the two of us now. No one is going to know.”

            “I’m sure they’ll figure it out,” Thorin said, but he leaned towards Bilbo.

            “They might have suspicions, but _I’m_ certainly not going to tell them.”

            Thorin was about to say that it would be pretty obvious who was sleeping with who in a tiny camp on the road, but Bilbo kissed him again. Only this time it was coupled with a hand sneaking down Thorin’s breeches.

            “If you insist,” Thorin murmured, kissing Bilbo back and cupping Bilbo’s head with one hand.

            “Oh, I do insist.”

           It was quite a while before they actually made it to Bilbo’s bedroom, but Bilbo didn’t seem to mind the intermissions of passionate kissing and groping. Their clothing was discarded in a haphazard, piecemeal fashion. Thorin hoped that there would be plenty of time to find his clothes and get dressed before the others arrived.

Thorin pressed Bilbo into the bed, lavishing attention on his neck. Bilbo wrapped his legs around Thorin and tried to press Thorin closer.

            “Patience, little one! I need to prepare you.”

            “No you don’t,” Bilbo said. He took Thorin’s hand and pressed it into himself. Thorin was surprised to find him already slicked and ready. He looked up at Bilbo.

            “I knew you were coming, so I didn’t see why we should waste any time…”

            “You invited me here for the express purpose of seducing me,” Thorin said, realization dawning.

            “Of course. I thought I had made that obvious! Poor thing, did you not get the hint?” Bilbo asked, amused.

            Thorin bristled. Gandalf had certainly never communicated this burglar’s…intentions to Thorin. They would have words once he got here. No doubt Gandalf thought it would be terribly amusing for Thorin to show up unaware. Maybe he thought it would have been a nice surprise. Thorin wasn’t fond of surprises, even if they were nice and soft and cute and waiting rather impatiently to be fucked. He would rather Gandalf had prepared him for over amorous hobbits.

            “Come on, I’m ready. Don’t make me wait all day,” Bilbo said.

            Thorin made his decision. He hiked one of Bilbo’s legs over his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his ankle. “So impatient,” he muttered, slicking himself up.

            In the face of Bilbo’s eagerness, Thorin wanted to take his time teasing, but it had been a long time. He pressed two fingers into Bilbo, and Bilbo made a soft sound of pleasure and shifted his hips.

            “Very nice, but not quite what I want,” Bilbo said, trying to drive Thorin’s fingers in deeper.

            Thorin raised his eyebrows. “I was merely making sure that you are ready. You’re very small.”

            “And you’re awfully thick,” Bilbo noted with approval.

Thorin removed his fingers and slid into Bilbo slowly, still fearful of hurting him—he was just so _tiny_. Bilbo made an appreciative noise and rocked his hips.

            Thorin leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead. “If you do not stop that, little hobbit, I’m afraid that this will be much quicker than you would like,” Thorin said, moving to nibble at Bilbo’s ears.

            Bilbo’s answer was to move so that Thorin was deeper within him. “We’ve got all day, don’t we?” Thorin started moving in earnest, and Bilbo let out a long moan. “Perhaps tomorrow?” he added hopefully.

            “No. Not tomorrow,” Thorin said.

            “Well then. We’re just going to have to make today count, aren’t we?”

            Thorin replied with a particularly hard thrust and all intelligent conversation stopped. Thorin couldn’t remember the last time he had sex, and he didn’t think he had ever had such an eager partner. Or such a strange one. Bilbo’s body was soft and smooth, speaking of little work and lots of food. What little hair he had mostly congregated on his feet and on his head. He was lacking facial hair entirely. It made him seem rather juvenile in Thorin’s eyes, so used to seeing only dwarves and occasionally men.

All too soon, their desires culminated and Thorin lay on his back beside Bilbo, sweaty and more relaxed that he had been in a long time. Bilbo threw a leg over Thorin and snuggled into him. Thorin put his arm under Bilbo’s neck and his hand landed on Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo was very warm and Thorin was already hot and sweaty, but he was so drowsy that it didn’t matter, and he soon fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

            Thorin woke to soft hobbit kisses being feathered on his face. He opened his eyes and was greeted with the sight of Bilbo’s eyes staring into his own.

            “Oh, you’re awake,” Bilbo said, those eyes crinkling with a smile. It was so adorable that Thorin had to kiss him. Though it had been prompted by cuteness, it quickly deepened into something hotter. Bilbo climbed on top of him for better access, and Thorin felt his hardness poking him in the stomach.

            “Ready again?” he murmured, stroking Bilbo.

            “Yes,” Bilbo sighed, pressing kisses to Thorin’s neck. “Are you?” he asked, reaching down. Apparently Thorin was ready. Bilbo smiled against Thorin’s throat, then sat up on Thorin’s thighs.

            “Do you intend to ride me, my burglar?” Thorin asked.

            “Burglar?” Bilbo asked as he stroked Thorin to full hardness. “I’ve stolen naught but your breath.” Bilbo held out his hand for the oil on the bedside table, and Thorin handed it to him.

            Thorin enjoyed how unselfconscious Bilbo was. He did not look coyly at Thorin to seek his approval as many lovers had done in the past. His eyes were closed as he sought his own pleasure, opening himself up to take Thorin in. Thorin rubbed circles on Bilbo’s hips with his thumbs, suddenly digging in with a grunt when Bilbo slid onto him. They both groaned when Thorin’s cock was fully seated inside Bilbo.

            “Mmm, it has been _far_ too long,” Bilbo said with a slight motion of his hips.

            “Does it hurt?” Thorin asked in concern.

            “No, it’s just that I haven’t been this full in a while.”

            Thorin placed his hand on Bilbo’s stomach and raised his eyebrows. Bilbo rolled his eyes and smacked Thorin’s hand away.

            “Just for that, I’m not making you elevensies. Or lunch,” Bilbo declared loftily.

“What are elevensies?” Thorin asked.

            Bilbo paused and gave Thorin a horrified look. “You don’t have elevensies?” he asked. Bilbo made such a sight that Thorin had to laugh. Then Bilbo started moving again and Thorin’s laugh petered off into a groan. His hands snaked back up to grip Bilbo’s waist.

           Thorin took that as his cue to shut up. The only sounds the two of them made were sighs and groans to accompany the slick sounds of their coupling. Their release arrived at a more leisurely pace than their first, frantic coupling, and Thorin gathered Bilbo in his arms to press all the kisses to him that he had been unable to do earlier. Bilbo tolerated it for a few moments, but disentangled himself from Thorin and got off the bed.

            “Where are you going?” Thorin asked.

            “To make elevensies,” Bilbo replied, putting his dressing gown on.

            Thorin made a grab for Bilbo to pull his back into the bed, but Bilbo danced away.

            “Don’t even try, Mister. I never even got second breakfast.”

            “Far be it from me to keep a hobbit from his food,” Thorin said dryly, pulling his trousers on and getting up. “How many meals do you even have a day?”

            “Oh, six or seven,” Bilbo called from the kitchen. “What, don’t they have hobbits in Bree?”

            “Yes, but I never really talked to them,” Thorin said, entering the kitchen. Bilbo was on his tiptoes trying to get something from a top shelf. Thorin came up behind him, wrapping one arm around Bilbo’s waist and fetched the pan with the other.

            “Mmm, thank you Malc. Look at you, so tall,” Bilbo said. He pressed himself against Thorin more fully and looked up at him. Thorin took the opportunity to press a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead, but inwardly he was frowning. What was that word Bilbo had said? Malc? What was that? Some hobbit word of thanks, or term of endearment?

            “Do you want something?” Bilbo asked.

            “What? No. I just ate.”

            “Good. All the more for me then.”

            Thorin put his chin on Bilbo’s head and started rocking them slowly side to side. The warm here suddenly brought to Thorin’s mind memories of when he had played by the hearth in Erebor at his father’s feet. He was feeling that same warmth now, inside and out.

            The point of one of Bilbo’s ears teased Thorin, so he worried at it with his teeth.

            “Stop that,” Bilbo said, but it was a halfhearted protest at best. Thorin stopped, abandoning Bilbo’s ear in favor of his neck.

            “Stop that,” Bilbo repeated with a giggle. “I’m making elvensies.”

            “You know, the rest of the world calls it brunch,” Thorin informed him.

            “Brunch?” Bilbo repeated, as if he had never heard the word before.

            “Yes. Breakfast and lunch together.”

            “But I’ve already had two breakfasts—or would have, if you hadn’t eaten my second. And I still have lunch yet to eat. I’m not going to eat all of them together. That’d be a bit much, don’t you think?”

            “The point of brunch isn’t to try and eat three meals at once. The point is to eat one meal so you don’t have to eat both breakfast and lunch.”

            Bilbo turned and looked at Thorin, at least as best as he could in the position the two of them were in. “Big People! Why would _anybody_ want to eat one meal instead of two? Or three?” he said, the very picture of hobbity disbelief.

            “Do I count as a Big Person?” Thorin asked.

            “You can put your chin on the top of my head. What do you think?”

            “I think you may be short for a hobbit.”

            “I am a perfectly normal sized hobbit, thank you very much,” Bilbo said, bristling in a way that Thorin couldn’t help but find endearing.

            Thorin picked Bilbo up several inches off the ground. Bilbo let out a little squeak of surprise. “Are you sure you’re not a little on the short side?”

            Bilbo huffed and elbowed him. “You’re a lot on the annoying side,” he said with no real heat. “Put me down. I’m cooking!”

            Thorin put Bilbo back on the ground, but did not release him from his grasp. He buried his face into Bilbo’s hair. It smelled nice. Bilbo had probably taken a bath this morning, just because he knew that Thorin was coming. Thorin wished he could have said the same, but perhaps that could be arranged later. Preferably with Bilbo in the tub with him, his skin glistening as Thorin…

            “Don’t get too excited now,” Bilbo said, pressing against Thorin’s hardness. “I am hungry and I am going to eat no matter how hard you try to distract me.”

            “Are you sure? I can be _very_ distracting,” Thorin breathed into his ear. Bilbo shivered.

            “I’m sure you can,” he said, slithering out of Thorin’s grasp to fetch an egg. Thorin followed him. He was starting to get hungry, but the hunger he was feeling was entirely to do with Bilbo and not at all with the food he was cooking.

            Thorin captured Bilbo again when he returned to the stove, burying his face in Bilbo’s neck. Bilbo lengthened his neck, giving Thorin plenty of space to rub with his whiskers.

            “Stop that. It tickles,” Bilbo said.

            “Mmm,” Thorin said, continuing to rub his cheek against Bilbo’s like a cat. It was strange not feeling the rub of whisker against whiskers, but instead whiskers against smooth skin. Bilbo seemed to like it, though, if he soft sigh he made was any indication, as well as the growing flush painting his cheeks.

            Bilbo’s sausages and eggs were done, and Thorin was wondering if perhaps Bilbo hadn’t been serious when he said that he wouldn’t make any for Thorin. Even though his stomach was full, his nose reminded him that Bilbo was a good cook, and it might be worth stuffing himself. But no, Bilbo scooped it all onto a single plate and sat down.

            “Are you sure some of that isn’t for me?” Thorin asked.

            “Absolutely sure. You’re not hungry, remember?”

            “I know I’m not hungry. It’s just you seem to have made enough for two people.”

            Bilbo looked down at his plate. “I suppose if you’re content with a baby bite of sausage and only a forkful of eggs it could be shared between two people.”

            “You can’t possibly eat all that,” Thorin said.

            “I most certainly can,” Bilbo said. He seemed almost affronted. As if to prove it to Thorin, he took another big bite of his sausage, making sure that Thorin was watching.

            “Should I be concerned with your treatment of sausages? That had far too much teeth for comfort,” Thorin said.

            Bilbo snorted. “Your sausage can wait its turn, or I’m likely to bite it instead.”

            Thorin was wrong. Bilbo could definitely eat of all that food, and quickly. He seemed to neither to inhale it like his nephews, or gracelessly stuff his face like Bombur, but it disappeared quickly enough. He was blotting his lips with a napkin when Thorin reached over and grabbed him by his dressing gown. Thorin kissed him, tasting the remnants of his meal. Damn, Thorin was actually getting hungry now. In all senses of the word, he thought as Bilbo returned the kiss and slid a hand into his hair.

            “Shall I bend you over on the table and take you like that, or would you like dessert?” Thorin asked.

            “Mmm,” Bilbo said, nuzzling Thorin. “I never have been able to resist the offer of dessert.” He slipped under the table, and Thorin could feel him pulling down his trousers. Thorin was glad he hadn’t bothered to relace them.

            Thorin rested his elbows on the table and stared straight at the wall as Bilbo’s breath ghosted over his balls. He couldn’t see Bilbo at all, didn’t want to see him. It was more erotic with an unseen Bilbo under the table pleasuring him.

            Showing the same stunning boldness that he would not have expected from such a creature, Bilbo did not bother with teasing Thorin, but instead almost swallow him whole on the first pass. Thorin’s breath left his chest, making a sound as if he had been struck.

            “You certainly do not bother with being coy,” Thorin said, his voice strained. He resisted the temptation to slide a hand into Bilbo’s hair, keeping his arms resolutely on the table.

            Bilbo murmured something, but all Thorin could feel was the vibration on his cock. Thorin’s control slipped and his hand slid into Bilbo’s hair, running his hand through Bilbo’s soft curls. He was suddenly reminded of his previous urge to bathe with Bilbo. To spend long moments washing his hair and body, running his hands over skin and locks. Bilbo was soft everywhere. While it might not be the best attribute for a warrior, it was for a lover.

            Bilbo was very good at this. Thorin’s hand involuntarily tightened in his hair, only loosening his grip when Bilbo made an involuntary noise of pain. Of course, his skills might not come as much of a surprise if he decided to treat everyone who walked through his door with a job offer like he had Thorin.

            “I am afraid you are far too good at this, Master Bilbo,” Thorin said. He wasn’t sure if he meant that in a jealous way or an appreciative one, or simply as a warning that he was about to come. Bilbo apparently took it as the last one, because he did not appear startled when Thorin came. He even kept his mouth on Thorin, swallowing all of it. His kindness extended to cleaning Thorin and lacing his trousers back up—though not tightly, Thorin noticed—while Thorin was still floating in bliss.

            Bilbo crawled out from under the table and onto Thorin’s lap. Thorin wrapped his arms around the warm weight of Bilbo, running broad hands over Bilbo’s tiny back. So small. His mouth had certainly been big enough, but it was a shock to see the rest of him and how small he was. Thorin almost wanted to call him fragile, or delicate, but he wasn’t sure if those were the right words to use for Bilbo. He was small, yes, but he seemed to be springy, like a young sapling. Not at all brittle like Thorin.

            “You’re thinking,” Bilbo chided him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

            “Is that not allowed?”

            “Not when you’re only staying here for one day. We have not yet made full use of my bed.”

            “Is there something wrong with your table?” Thorin asked, picking Bilbo up and setting him on it. Bilbo made a sound of surprise when Thorin lifted him, but he relaxed against Thorin in an inadvertent sign of trust.

            “My table is not nearly as comfortable as my bed,” Bilbo informed him with an arched eyebrow.

            “Have you ever tested that theory?” Thorin asked. He pushed Bilbo down on his back and opened his legs, throwing them over Thorin’s shoulders.

            “Ah—I suddenly find myself amenable to trying it again,” Bilbo said. Thorin chuckled as he opened Bilbo’s dressing gown and set about returning the favor for dessert.

            Bilbo turned out to be as appreciatively vocal in this act as he had been before, and perhaps more.

            “Oh!” he said, almost like it was a surprise that Thorin was tracing a vein on his cock. His hands scrabbled for purchase on the wooden table. “Oh, Malc,” Bilbo said, throwing his head back. Again with that word. Thorin would have to ask what it meant later.

Bilbo finished with a sound that was far too cute, in Thorin’s opinion, to be the product of sex. He made a happy little sigh afterwards when Thorin picked him up. He was limp and yielding, curling up around Thorin. He pressed a kiss to Thorin’s mouth.

            “Let’s go to bed,” Bilbo said.

            “For sex or sleep?”

            “Mmm. Sleep first, then more sex. And then food at some point.”

            Thorin carried Bilbo into the bed and curled up behind him. He let Bilbo hog all of the blankets because he was already too hot, especially with a warm hobbit attached to him like a limpet.

            “This doesn’t mean anything,” Thorin said. Bilbo had apparently just fallen asleep and that jolted him out.

            “Hm?”

            “This doesn’t mean anything. It’s just sex.”

            “Well it’s certainly casual, but I’d like to think that you like me at least a little bit,” Bilbo said, a slight frown forming.

            “I don’t dislike you. Yet,” Thorin admitted.

            Bilbo snorted. “Well I like you. For now.” He wrapped Thorin’s arms around his middle. Thorin allowed himself to be maneuvered to the hobbit’s pleasure. He was starting to get sleepy himself. The hair on Bilbo’s hair tickled his nose. It did smell good. He wondered if Bilbo would be amenable to that bath idea he had earlier. He could certainly use one, and he didn’t think Bilbo would complain about joining in.

           Thorin fell asleep with visions of wet hobbits dancing in his head.


	3. Bilbo's Blanket Burrito 'Bandoned for Bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't resist the alliterative title. 
> 
> Also, I am really confused about the state of plumbing in the Shire. I wouldn't have thought that they had any, but according to the movie they do, so they might as well have hot water in real tubs while they're at it. *shrug*

When Thorin woke up, he was extremely hot. He had to roll away from Bilbo to try and get some cool air on his body. Bilbo made a little noise of displeasure and rolled over to reattach himself to Thorin.

“You are far too warm, Bilbo,” Thorin said, pushing him away.

“No I’m not. I’m cold,” Bilbo pouted, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself and trying to snuggle up to Thorin again.

“How about a nice warm bath?” Thorin suggested.

Bilbo looked up at him. His face was the only thing visible through his blanket burrito, and his hair fell into his eyes. Thorin brushed it away and kissed Bilbo’s forehead.

“You are very dirty,” Bilbo said.

“How kind of you to notice,” Thorin said dryly.

Bilbo unwrapped himself from his blanket and Thorin followed him to the bathroom. Thorin was impressed by the plumbing. There had been extensive plumbing in Erebor, but not so much anywhere else he had been. Not having to draw the water for the bath would be a nice change. Bilbo turned the faucets on and checked the temperature of the water.

When the tub was full, Thorin got in. The water was almost scalding, but Thorin had learned to ignore extremes of temperature, hot or cold, in his efforts to get clean. Almost as soon as he had dipped his toe in, the water turned immediately cloudy. Bilbo paused in his own descent into the tub.

“You know what, I’ll just wash you from outside the tub, shall I—”

Thorin dragged Bilbo into the tub with him.

“—or not,” Bilbo said. He was on Thorin’s chest, his fingers unconsciously tightening in Thorin’s chest hair. Thorin kissed him again, and Bilbo started to wash him.

There was a whole shelf of soaps within easy reach of the tub, each of them scented. Bilbo’s hand hovered over them, trying to decide which one would be best for Thorin. He certainly was a fastidious little thing. Who had almost a dozen different kinds of soap? He selected one of the bars and held it up to Thorin’s nose for him to sniff. It smelled of lavender.

“You wish for me to smell like flowers?”

“Anything would be an improvement,” Bilbo teased, rubbing the soap into his hands and then in slow circles on Thorin’s chest. His movements were soft, sometimes barely brushing Thorin’s skin. While it was sensual, it was not terribly helpful in getting him clean. Thorin pressed Bilbo’s hands harder onto his chest.

“Hold your horses. I’ll get you clean soon enough. Close your eyes and lay back,” Bilbo told him.

Thorin did so. He felt like he might fall asleep again, even though he had just woken up. He could make up decades of sleepless nights here with Bilbo. As well as decades of not having any sex, he reminded himself as Bilbo’s hands slipped down lower, stroking his abdomen.

“Love your enthusiasm,” Bilbo said, nudging Thorin’s rising cock. “You’re so much better than the last one I invited over. One romp and he was done for the day.”

“The last one?” Thorin said, opening his eyes.

“Yes. I’ve run through most of the unmarried male population of the Shire (and some of the married ones) so I had to branch out to Bree. I certainly don’t regret it now, though.”

Thorin stared at Bilbo. He had just casually mentioned that he had slept with probably dozens of people like he was making a comment about the weather. “Are all hobbits as sexually adventurous as you?” Thorin asked faintly.

“Oh, I’m a bit more curious than average, but I wouldn’t exactly call myself adventurous,” Bilbo said. “What, do dwarves not do this?”

“Not exactly…” Thorin said. He doubted that Bilbo would appreciate Thorin telling him that he’d be a whore by the standards of dwarves and probably many others. Dwarves were a faithful sort as a rule, and while occasionally comfort could be shared by companions—only of the same gender, of course—what Bilbo was doing was very against dwarven sexual mores.

“Well, you’re a very lucky dwarf then, aren’t you?”

“Extremely,” Thorin agreed, closing his eyes again as Bilbo washed his legs, neglecting Thorin’s groin area entirely. It was almost a massage. Thorin wished he could return the favor, but the only types of massages he knew were the painful sort. While extremely effective for sore muscles, it was not exactly erotic.

The smell of lavender permeated the room. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine that he was in a hot spring in a field of lavender. With a very lovely companion, he reminded himself as Bilbo’s hands started up his legs, running his hands over Thorin’s pelvis but never touching his cock.

“Switch sides. I’m going to do your hair and your back,” Bilbo said.

“I think you missed a spot on my front,” Thorin said.

“I’ll get back to it,” Bilbo said. Thorin could hear the smile in his voice. He switched sides so that his head was resting on Bilbo’s shoulder instead of the opposite side of the tub.

Bilbo’s hand immediately went to work on his hair, but as soon as it touched on of his braids, Thorin bolted upright.

“What? Did I hurt you? I’m sorry,” Bilbo said.

“No, it’s not that. You touched one of my braids.”

“Ye…es?” Bilbo said. He appeared to be as confused about this as the weapon of choice comment.

“You touched my braid,” Thorin repeated.

“Am I not allowed to do that?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Well…all right. Do you want to undo them yourself, then? Or do you want me to just…wash around them?”

Thorin hesitated. Really, he should just leave them in and wait until one of the others arrived and let them do his hair. But there was a temptation to undo them himself and let Bilbo have all of his hair, unbound.

Apparently Thorin had paused to consider for too long, because Bilbo said, “I’ll just leave them in, shall I?” and started to massage his scalp and lather up his hair without touching any of his braids. Thorin slowly relaxed back into the tub.

Thorin was surprised at how good it felt. His mother and his nurse had washed his hair as a child, but it had not been a pleasant experience. He had been as bad as Kíli about his hair. Actually, he still was. He had just gotten a little more stoic. But there was nothing but pleasure in Bilbo’s caresses. Even when he had to untangle a section, he was careful to not pull at Thorin’s scalp.

“You have a lot of hair. As much hair as a girl.” Bilbo commented after several minutes.

“Male and female dwarves have about the same amount of hair,” Thorin told him. He had noticed that it was not the case with hobbits. The girls wore their curls long and unbound, but the males kept their very short and close to their scalps, and there was not a single whisker on anyone, male or female.

“I wouldn’t like to have as much hair as a girl. All those curls! Mine are already unmanageable enough at this length. I suppose if my hair was only as curly as yours it might be manageable, though,” Bilbo said, holding up a shock of Thorin’s hair.

“My hair isn’t that easy to deal with either. That’s what braids are for.”

“I’m going to rinse your hair now. Hold your head back,” Bilbo said. Thorin obliged him. With all of his hair sopping wet, Thorin felt like he had gained about five pounds.

“There! Much better. You look almost respectable now,” Bilbo said.

“That would be a first,” Thorin said.

“All I need to do is wash your face and you’d almost be someone I could publicly have over for tea.”

“What would you do with me in public?” Thorin asked.

“Not what I really want to do with you, that’s for sure,” Bilbo said. He wet a cloth, lathered it up with soap, and started to clean Thorin’s face with it.

After the first swipe, Bilbo held it up accusingly to Thorin. There was a large dark smear on the cloth. “You are ruining all of my linen. I don’t even want to go back and look at my bedsheets.”

“We should have stayed on the table then,” Thorin said.

“I don’t want you where I’m going to eat either,” Bilbo said, scrubbing Thorin’s face with all of the vigor that had been absent when he was washing Thorin’s body.

“You’ve already put your mouth on me several times. In several places,” Thorin reminded him.

“What would you have done to get your cock that dirty? Never mind, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know,” Bilbo said, shaking his head as if to clear some unpleasant mental pictures. He moved his cloth, now almost completely black, to clean Thorin’s beard area.

He must have felt Thorin tense, because he stopped and asked “What now?”

“Beard,” Thorin said.

“Yes, it is. Good job, Malc. Are you going to tell me anything helpful, or is labeling body parts the limit of your ability?”

Thorin raised his eyebrows. “Don’t give me any of your hobbit sauce. Beards are intimate places.”

“More intimate than this?” Bilbo asked, giving Thorin’s cock a squeeze.

“I wouldn’t say more. It’s just…different.”

Bilbo didn’t appear to understand, so Thorin removed Bilbo’s hand from his cock, holding it as he tried to marshal his thoughts.

“What I mean is…beards are for family.” Thorin was struggling to explain it, but Bilbo appeared to understand. He handed Thorin the rag.

“Clean it yourself, then.” Bilbo said, not unkindly. Thorin did so.

“Are there no places like that on hobbits?” Thorin asked.

“Feet. Foot rubs are for parents and children, or married people.”

Thorin nodded. He hadn’t been intending to give Bilbo a foot rub, but it was good to know the protocol for it.

“I hadn’t realized that dwarves were so different,” Bilbo said.

“I don’t suppose you get many dwarves here in the Shire,” Thorin said.

“No, and not a lot of men or elves either. And I’ve never been out of the Shire.”

“Never?”

“Never. What’s it like out there?”

“There’s a lot of world out there, Bilbo Baggins, and very little of it is like the Shire.”

“Yes.” Bilbo sighed. “I used to wish I could see it all…but it’s a childish fancy. It’s a scary world out there!” he said, tracing a scar on Thorin’s chest.

“It can be. But I’ve found it worth it. You could come with me on my journey, and I would show you the world.”

Bilbo sighed. “I’m not like you, though.”

“I shouldn’t like you if you were,” Thorin said. There was something wonderfully domestic about Bilbo, and Thorin wanted to keep it that way almost as much as he wanted to show Bilbo the world. He wanted to go out and risk all the danger so Bilbo wouldn’t have to, and then come home to him, where the fire was warm and the food was delicious and the hobbits were insatiable and cuddly. Home. Something he had never known for too long. How little he had appreciated that gift when Erebor was in his grandfather’s hands! He had never given his mountain much thought, assuming that it would be there for him forever, that it would wait quietly for him to assume its crown. How things change!

“Malc?” Bilbo asked softly. He must have seen something of Thorin’s thoughts reflected in his face.

“Hm? It's nothing,” Thorin said.

Bilbo didn’t seem to believe that. He kissed Thorin, soft and sweet. Thorin didn’t realize that it was precisely what he needed until one hand was in Bilbo’s hair and the other was cupping his cheek and he was kissing Bilbo like he was drowning and Bilbo was air.

Thorin thought that he would never have his fill of Bilbo, and he was disappointed when Bilbo broke the kiss. He curled up with Thorin, resting his head on Thorin’s shoulder. It wasn’t a kiss, but it still was still soothing. Thorin continued to stroke Bilbo’s hair, pressing soft kisses to his hair as Bilbo’s hand stroked his chest.

“Tell me more about the world outside of the Shire. Where do you come from?” Bilbo asked after a long silence.

“It is wild in most places. There is little of it as tame and green as the Shire. The settlements of men are the most prevalent, but they are still scattered apart. I come from the Lonely Mountain, Erebor, way out east, over the Misty Mountains and past the forest of Mirkwood.”

“That’s a long way away,” Bilbo said.

“Yes, it is.”

“Coming here must have been an adventure. Are they like the stories? Adventures and battles and glory?”

“I’m afraid you’ve got it backwards to forwards. What brings glory to battles and adventures are the stories told about them. How long they live in memory. Adventures and battles are not that glorious while they’re happening.”

“What are they really like, then?”

“Uncomfortable.”

Bilbo frowned. “Why do all these people go on adventures, then?”

“Because some things are worth the discomfort.”

There was a lull in their strange talk. Thorin’s mind turned away from weighty matters and brought up the image he had before going to sleep. He found the real thing very close to his imaginings, though Bilbo was currently wearing a thoughtful expression instead of a lustful one. Well, Thorin knew how to fix that.

“Are you going to ride me, or shall I bend you over and take you?” Thorin asked.

That quickly earned a devious smile from Bilbo. “I’ve already done quite enough work for today. You should start pulling your weight,” he said, getting off of Thorin and presenting himself, gripping the sides of the tub.

There were an awful lot of bottles on the shelf, but Thorin was fairly certain that any of them could be used for lube. He grabbed one at random and opened it. It smelled strongly of juniper. He smeared his fingers with it, nearly dropping it when Bilbo gave his arse a little wiggle.

“You’re too slow,” Bilbo said when Thorin pressed his chest to Bilbo’s back and laid his head on Bilbo’s shoulder, his fingers smoothing the way for the passage of his cock.

“You’re too needy,” Thorin said, nipping at Bilbo’s neck.

“You’re mean,” Bilbo almost pouted.

“You’ve yet to discover how mean I can be,” Thorin said, giving Bilbo’s neck a real bite.

“Oh! That was mean. Do it again,” Bilbo said, tilting his head to give Thorin better access. Thorin sucked another bruise onto Bilbo’s neck. There were definitely going to be some titters from the rest of the company when they saw their bruised burglar, but at this point Thorin didn’t care.

He was satisfied that Bilbo was prepared enough, and Bilbo appeared to be as well by the way he was thrusting his hips insistently. Thorin used the last of the juniper slick and entered Bilbo in one smooth thrust.

“Mmm, Malc,” Bilbo said, throwing his head back.

Thorin resumed his attack of Bilbo’s neck while thrusting. Their vigorous activity was splashing a lot of water out of the tub, drenching the floor of the bathroom. The air smelled of lavender and juniper, a combination that Thorin would never have thought to be sexy until now. He was sure that if he ever smelled those two scents together again, his mind would take him back to this moment, recalling the wet warmth of his encounter with Bilbo.

Thorin moved one of his hands down to play with Bilbo’s nipple, and Bilbo moaned. Thorin had moved his bites higher and higher up on Bilbo’s neck until they were just under his jawline. There would definitely be no disguising them now.

Bilbo’s breath was coming in pants, and his head lolled back onto Thorin. Thorin supported his chest while rubbing his nipples, probably the only thing holding Bilbo upright right now. Thorin moved his ministrations to right under Bilbo’s ear.

“Ah! Malc,” Bilbo said in between pants.

“Yes?” Thorin asked. His voice came out deeper than usual and his lips were right by Bilbo’s ear. Bilbo shivered.

“Oh, I’m definitely keeping you.”

“Keeping me where?” Thorin asked, amused.

“Here!” Bilbo said. His voice came out at a higher pitch than he intended because one of Thorin’s thrusts went home right as he formed his words.

“You intend to keep me in your bathtub?”

“No. Pruny is not sexy. I’d keep you in the bed. After the sheets are laundered.”

Thorin chuckled. “It’s too bad that I’m taking you with me. I would not mind being held prisoner in your bedroom.”

“Who said that I’m coming with you?” Bilbo said.

“Come now. Don’t be a tease. Surely you would not go to all this trouble to seduce me and not even accept my proposal,” Thorin said.

“Seducing you was no trouble at all, and the bedroom—or bathroom, rather—is not the place to discuss proposals.” Bilbo’s attempt at businesslike manner was was undermined by his pants and the little sex noises he made that Thorin loved.

“All right then, but you’ll have to make up your mind soon. The others will be arriving shortly.”

“Others?” Bilbo asked, but they both forgot his question as they approached their peaks.

Bilbo came first, crying out and shuddering. If he was not securely in Thorin’s grasp, he probably would have fallen and banged his head on the side of the tub. Thorin came shortly thereafter, when Bilbo had regained enough energy to reach a hand back and slide it into Thorin’s now clean hair. He stood still for a few moments, panting, before leaning back into the tub, pulling Bilbo on top of him again.

“We really should get out,” Bilbo mumbled into Thorin’s chest. Despite his words, he did not seem very inclined to move right now.

“I still haven’t cleaned you yet,” Thorin said.

“True. Well, make it quick. I wasn’t kidding when I said pruny is not sexy.”

Thorin snorted and grabbed a bar of soap at random. Luck was with him. It was the same scent that he had smelled on Bilbo earlier, a blend that Thorin couldn’t identify except that it smelt of warmth and something uniquely Bilbo.

With a limp and unprotesting Bilbo, Thorin made quick work of any dirt that he might have spread to him. He wished he could take his time and do it like Bilbo had done to him, but the water was getting cold and they were getting pruny. It wasn’t likely they would get a chance at a repeat performance on the journey either, unfortunately. Well, Thorin could utilize his massage skills somewhat better on the road anyways, if they got the time.

They got out of the tub and dried each other off. Bilbo had revived somewhat, but he was still looking at Thorin with half-lidded eyes and a soft smile on his face. Thorin pressed Bilbo to him and kissed the top of his head. He was too cute and too sexy. Thorin was glad that they had met. The only thing that remained to be seen was his skills at burglary.

Bilbo led him back into bed, though not without a tut about the sheets, which were indeed dirty. “It seems a shame that you’re going to put on those dirty clothes after I just bathed you,” he said. “You don’t think you could stay a little longer until I can get my laundress to wash them?”

“Thank you, but no. Haste is of the utmost importance.”

“Why so eager to leave me?” Bilbo said in a mock pout.

“I don’t intend on leaving you at all,” Thorin said, pulling Bilbo closer to him.

“Yes, what’s this proposal about, Malc?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hobbit sauce" always sounded like a food item to me. The question is, is it sauce made _by_ hobbits or _from_ hobbits?


	4. Chapter 4

“Why do you keep calling me Malc?” Thorin asked.

For some reason, Bilbo looked hurt. “Would you rather I call you Master Falstoe?”

“No. I would prefer it if you called me Thorin.”

Bilbo frowned. “Why?”

“Because that’s my name?” Thorin said, confused.

Bilbo’s eyes went from half asleep to wide open. “I thought your name was Malc,” he said, confusion evident on his face.

“No. I am Thorin, son of Thrain, called Oakenshield.”

“But the letters!” Bilbo protested.

“What letters?”

“The letters I sent you. They were addressed to Malc Falstoe, how would you get them—”

“What letters?”

“The letters I sent you! Don’t tell me you never got the letters, you wrote back—oh! Oh!” Bilbo went from utter lassitude to jumping off the bed like it scalded him. “You mean—you’re not...get out! Get out now!” he yelled.

Thorin sat up on his elbows, perplexed at the complete turnaround in Bilbo’s attitude towards him. “Bilbo—”

“Get out! Get out of my house! Get out, you—you—!” Bilbo’s hands gesticulated wildly in his agitation.

Thorin felt an icy wave of realization chill him. “You mistook me.”

“You misrepresented yourself! You are not who I thought you were! Get your clothes on and get out!”

“You did not know my face. You do not know his face. What kind of game are you playing, hobbit? Do you make a habit of sleeping with everyone who walks through your door?”

Bilbo’s face was already flushed, but now it turned a deep, angry red. Not at all like the lovely color of his sex flush. His anger was of such magnitude that he couldn’t speak. His mouth was moving but no sound came out.

“GET. OUT. OF. MY. HOUSE!” Bilbo’s voice fluctuated with every word he said, from a high pitched scream to a rough growl, and was punctuated by heavy breaths. He grabbed Thorin’s wrist and dragged him, still naked, out of the house.

When Bilbo threw open the door, Thorin was treated to a brief glimpse of the night sky—was it evening already?—and Dwalin’s surprised face, hand raised to knock. Bilbo pushed him and Thorin landed on his face at Bilbo’s doorstep.

The door slammed shut. Thorin could taste dirt in his mouth.

“I see you’ve met our burglar,” Dwalin said, his voice carefully neutral.

Thorin snarled and stood up, spitting dirt out of his mouth. Dwalin untied his cloak so Thorin wouldn’t be quite so naked.

As soon as Thorin had utilized Dwalin’s cloak for a makeshift wrap, the door opened and a ball of cloth hit Thorin on the back of the head. Thorin spun around, but was only rewarded by a glimpse of the door slamming shut. Thorin picked up the bundle. It was his braies, trousers, and tunic. Thorin tore off the cloak and flung it to Dwalin, who put it to use as a curtain for Thorin to dress behind.

Thorin had put on his braies was working on his trousers when the door opened again and Bilbo lobbed another bundle of cloth at him, hitting his face this time. From the lump that was probably forming on his forehead, this bundle contained his belt. In addition to his belt, this bundle contained his cloak and coat. He had just unwrapped the parcel when the door opened again and Bilbo threw his boots at him, one at a time. Dwarf boots are very sturdy, very heavy, and very unpleasant to have thrown at one’s head. Thorin thought that there might be another bruise forming on his forehead. Thorin was now snarling as he dressed himself.

“Well, even if your appearance no longer offends, your language certainly will,” Dwalin said as he quit his position as curtain guard. He frowned as he looked Thorin over.

“What?” Thorin asked. He hadn’t meant to snap, but Dwalin knew not to take it personally.

“You’re missing a bead,” Dwalin said.

Thorin’s hand flew to his braids. Sure enough, one of them was partially undone and lacking its bead.

“Thorin? What on earth’s going on here?”

Thorin looked up from putting his boots on to see Balin standing at the gate. And of course, that was the moment when Bilbo decided to throw Thorin’s shield at him. It collided with the back of Thorin’s head with enough force that he toppled over, once again face down in the dirt.

“He’s got good aim,” Dwalin remarked. “Hits you in the head every time.”

Thorin got up and started pounding on the door, making it shake. “Bilbo! I will find my own things! Let me in!”

“You are not setting foot in this house as long as I live, you liar!” Bilbo yelled, his voice muffled by the door.

“I never lied to you!” Thorin snarled. “You assumed I was someone else! You didn’t even ask my name before you…” Thorin trailed off, suddenly mindful of Balin and Dwalin at his back. They probably had enough information now to piece it together, but Thorin didn’t want to say it out loud.

“Then what were you doing at my house? I don’t have dealings with dwarves! What did you come here for, if not to take advantage of me?” Bilbo yelled.

“I came to ask you to join my company,” Thorin said.

“Your company? Like an _adventure_ company?”

“Yes.”

“Gandalf!” the hobbit muttered. Thorin could barely hear him through the door. “I will not speak another word to that wizard as long as I live. Me! On an adventure!”

“You still haven’t given me my vambraces or my gambeson,” Thorin said.

“Your what?”

“My forearm guards and my padded jacket!”

“Do you know where you threw them?”

“No. I was a bit busy at the time.” Busy bruising Bilbo’s neck with rough kisses. “Just let me in to look for them!”

“No! You’ve done quite enough damage for one night.”

“Thorin!” two voices chorused. Thorin turned around and saw his nephews.

“See, we’re not late,” Kíli said.

“Why are we standing in the garden?” Fíli asked.

The door opened again, and Thorin spun around and put his foot on the threshold, thankfully the booted one. The door was no match for Thorin’s boot, and he stared at Bilbo through the sliver of the opened door.

Bilbo lobbed Thorin’s vambrace at his forehead. It was nothing but petty revenge at this close of a distance.

“Where’s the other one?” Thorin demanded.

“I don’t know where you threw it,” Bilbo snapped.

Thorin put his shoulder to the door. It opened a few more inches before Bilbo put all his weight into closing it. Thorin was much stronger, though, and the door was slowly being forced open.

“I still have your sword, you know!”

“Are you threatening me with my own sword? You don’t even know how to use it!”

“The pointy end goes inside you. The rest…is just…details!”

Thorin finally forced the door open and was standing inside.

Thorin glared at Bilbo and Bilbo gave back as good as he got before Thorin broke his gaze to search for his things.

His pack was right by the door and Thorin could only assume that it was too heavy for Bilbo to have thrown at him. It weighed as much as Bilbo himself, if not more. Thorin attempted to retrace his steps, but Bilbo must have already picked up everything that had been strewn in obvious places because Thorin didn’t find anything. As he branched out into rooms that he had never actually visited, Bilbo followed him like a small, angry shadow. Thorin could feel his displeasure fill the distance that separated them.

“It’s more your fault than mine,” he said, bending over to look under a chair.

“Excuse me?” Bilbo spluttered.

“I came here with no intentions besides that of offering you a position in my company.”

“That’s ridiculous! Why would you want me?”

“I need something stolen.”

“Stolen? Why would you want me to steal something? I’ve never stolen a thing in my life!”

“You’ve never stolen anything?”

“There were some sweet-related incidents as a child, but nothing certainly since I’ve come of age.”

Thorin hid his smile—why was he smiling?—under another chair as he finally found his other vambrace. He put it on slowly, his back towards Bilbo, as he regained control of his face. There was nothing to smile about in this situation.

Satisfied that his expression was stern, even grim, Thorin got up. “Bring me my sword.”

“ _Excuse_ you?”

“Bring me my sword  _please_.”

Bilbo scowled at him for a moment, but then went away, presumably to fetch Thorin’s sword. Thorin wondered if Bilbo really would have used it on him. He didn’t think that he would try to stab him now, but his willingness to use a sword even with his lack of experience was a promising sign that perhaps Bilbo wouldn’t be totally hopeless in the wild. Of course, that point was a bit moot if he wasn’t actually coming.

Bilbo came stomping back in with Thorin’s sword and thrust it at him unceremoniously. It was still scabbarded though, so Thorin overlooked the implied insult and took it.

“What else are you still missing?” Bilbo said. His voice was more controlled and polite, but Thorin could hear the get the fuck out of my house undertone clearly.

“My gambeson and a bead,” Thorin said.

“A bead? You’re never going to find that,” Bilbo protested.

Thorin leaned towards Bilbo until their faces were only inches apart. Bilbo's lips parted, whether in anticipation of a kiss or in preparation for a tirade Thorin wasn't sure. “Do you know what it’s made out of? That bead is worth more than your life, hobbit.”

“Is that a threat?”

Thorin turned away from Bilbo. “Get a lamp,” he said.

The dark might actually be of use to them. The mithril of the bead would shine in the lanternlight, as long as it wasn’t under something. Which it probably was. But Thorin would tear this house to the ground to find his bead. Not the best metaphor to use when the house was actually a hole in the ground, but the sentiment still applied.

He opened the door to the rest of his company. He needed every pair of eyes he could get. “All of you. Get in here. I lost my bead,” he said.

“Excuse me,” someone whose voice Thorin didn’t recognize said in the back. The rest of the dwarves turned and parted to reveal a hobbit standing outside the gate. “Is this the residence of Bilbo Baggins? Only, he didn’t tell me he was having a party...”

Thorin stepped forward until he was only a few feet away from the strange hobbit. Thorin looked him up and down. The hobbit shifting nervously under his gaze. He had dark hair, blue eyes, was wearing a blue coat, and was fidgeting with one of the buttons on his waistcoat as he eyed all the dwarves uncertainly.

“Are you Malc Falstoe?” Thorin demanded.

“That I am. At your service, Master Dwarf.”

Thorin seized the hobbit by his coat and threw him. Malc Falstoe tumbled down the hill and landed with a splash in the pond at the bottom of the hill.

Thorin walked back up the path to Bag End, motioning for the company to follow him inside.

“Mister Thorin, sir, do you think the hobbit can swim?” Ori asked him, peering anxiously down the hill.

Thorin didn’t reply, but judging from the shrill cries for help below, it appeared not.

Bilbo had fetched the lantern and was peering under a large wooden box when Thorin arrived with the rest of the dwarves in tow.

“No, no, no,” Bilbo said, jumping up and wagging his finger at Thorin. “I don’t even want you in here! You are not bringing…one, two, three, four…”

“Twelve,” Thorin said.

“Twelve other dwarves into my house! Get them out, now!”

“We will leave when we have found all of my possession, Master Baggins. We do not stay where we are not wanted,” Thorin said.

“See that you don’t.” Bilbo walked off, presumably to fetch more lanterns, and Thorin turned to his nephews.

“You two have the best eyesight. Everyone else will move furniture while you two look for the bead.”

“Where do you think you lost it?” Kíli asked.

“I don’t know. It could have been at any point during my stay here. I only noticed it missing when Dwalin pointed it out to me.”

Bilbo came back with two extra lanterns and looked around for the people to hand them to.

“Thank you,” Fíli said, taking a lantern and handing it to his brother and then taking one for himself.

“You should probably check the bedroom first—that is my mother’s glory box, be careful with that! Those are antiques! No, no,” Bilbo surged forward to oversee the dwarves moving his furniture, but Thorin pushed him back and guided him to the bedroom. He gave Thorin a cross look and untangled the sheets on the bed to see if the bead was there.

Kíli frowned. “Why would it be in the hobbit’s bedroom?” he asked his brother in a stage whisper. Fíli gave him an incredulous look. Bilbo gave him a dirty one. Thorin pressed his palm to his forehead and mentally timed how long it took Kíli to get it.

“Oh!” Six seconds. “Ew.”

Fíli clapped his brother on the back and dropped down to look under the bed. Kíli bravely worked through the trauma of realizing that his uncle was a sexual creature by moving the drying rack and basket of pinecones near the fire to see if the bead was under them.

The bed was so low that it was almost impossible to see under, so Fíli and Thorin moved it. Bilbo fretted all over the room saying that everything was an antique and to be careful. Thorin was very tempted to drop the bed to see the hobbit jump and wail.

Dori came in and handed Thorin his gambeson. Thorin said his thanks and put it on while Fíli and Kíli finished searching the room.

“Must not be here,” Fíli said, and he and Kíli went off to search elsewhere. That left Thorin and Bilbo alone in Bilbo’s bedroom. The hobbit was still absorbed in shaking out the pillowcases to notice Thorin’s attention.

“We will not leave until we find it,” Thorin said, his tone a threat and warning. “And if I find that you have pocketed it…you may say you are not a thief, but now I am not so sure.”

Bilbo slammed the pillow back down on the bed. “It is a bead! Something to keep your hair in order! What is so important about it? What is so important that you feel the need to threaten me and get your lackeys to tear apart my house?”

Thorin drew himself up to his full height. “That bead is made of mithril,” he said.

“I don’t even know what that is!” Bilbo said in an exasperated shout.

Thorin was surprised to see that Bilbo’s face was completely earnest, though exasperated. “It is a metal of great rarity and cost. When I said it was worth more than your life, I was not exaggerating. It is worth more than your entire house.”

“And you wear it in your _hair_?”

“It has been passed down through generations of my family.”

“Really? I think you’d be more appreciative of other people’s antiques, then.”

He walked away to supervise the others.

Thorin was angry with Bilbo and not at all sure why he had the sudden urge to throw him upon the bed and have his way with him one last time.

Thorin wandered into the hallway to see how the search was progressing. No one had found it yet, otherwise there would have been a cry raised. Even though Bilbo had not unbraided his hair in the bath, Thorin was worried that the bead might have fallen into the drain. He didn’t relish the task of demolishing Bilbo’s plumbing, but he would do what must be done.

There was a rapping at the door. It did not sound like someone knocking, but rather like someone was hitting the door with a stick.

“Go away!” Bilbo yelled.

Ori, who was closest to the door, opened it to reveal Gandalf.

“Ah, I see the party has already started, then,” Gandalf said, stooping to enter the hobbit hole. “I’m sorry I’m late. There was a hobbit almost drowning in a pond down the hill and I had to fish him out.”

Gandalf gave Thorin a look when he said that, as if he knew that it was Thorin’s fault. Thorin didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty.

Bilbo marched up to him, full of hobbity fury. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “I _distinctly_ remember saying that I did not want any adventure.”

“And I seem to recall saying that it would be good for you. What’s all this about?” he asked, fully taking in what all the dwarves were doing.

“This…” Bilbo said, pointing to Thorin and gesticulating while he tried to come up with a suitable word to describe Thorin, “lying, threatening brute of a dwarf—”

“Ah, I see you’ve met Thorin,” Gandalf said. Thorin’s head snapped up. He was certainly none of those things.

“It’s not my fault that you decided to assume—” Thorin started.

“Lost his stupid hair bead—” Bilbo interrupted.

“Been in my family for generations—”

“Dwarves tearing apart my house—”

“We’ll leave as soon as we find it, as long as you haven’t stolen it—”

“What would I do with your stupid hair bead, have you seen how short my hair is—”

“Do not think that I am afraid to take your life as repayment if you have stolen it—”

“Enough! Both of you!” Gandalf shouted. Everyone stilled. “You two, in the kitchen,” he said, pointing to Bilbo and Thorin.

The three of them were seated at the kitchen table, Gandalf on one side and Bilbo and Thorin on the other with as much space between them as possible.

“Now, start at the beginning,” Gandalf said, lighting his pipe.

“A friend from Bree was supposed to be arriving today—”

“I came here looking for the mark on the door like you said—” Bilbo and Thorin said at the same time.

“Bilbo first,” Gandalf said. Thorin most certainly did not do anything that could resemble sulking.

“As I said, I was expecting a friend from Bree to arrive. We had never met in person before, only exchanged letters. He said that he had dark hair, blue eyes, and would be wearing blue the day of our meeting. So when I opened the door and saw him,” Bilbo said, jerking a thumb in Thorin’s direction, “I thought that he was the one I was supposed to meet because I couldn’t think of any other reason why a dwarf might be knocking at my door. I realized that I had never asked Malc what he was. I had just assumed that he was a hobbit, and that assumption might be wrong. So I invited Thorin in, and, well…” Bilbo said. He trailed off into vague gesticulations.

“We had sex. Multiple times,” Thorin said. Bilbo’s face showed a mixture of relief that Thorin had said it instead of him and distaste that he had said it so crudely.

Gandalf leaned back in the tiny hobbit chair and blew a few smoke rings.

“I arrived at the hobbit hole with the mark on the door, like you instructed. The hobbit seduced me, apparently not knowing who I was. I did not come with any intentions other than asking him to become the burglar for the company.”

“I’m not a burglar. Gandalf, what’s all this burglar nonsense?”

“I’m not a whore either, but this day has been full of surprises,” Thorin said.

“I found it!” Kíli hollered from another room. Thorin stood up immediately and went to retrieve the lost bead. Kíli met him halfway and dropped the bead into his hand. Thorin rebraided it into his hair.

“Where was it?”

“It was near a wall outside the bedroom,” Kíli said. Thorin clapped him on the shoulder.

“I thank you for returning an item of such great importance to me, sister-son,” Thorin said formally. Kíli’s face tried to remain serious and match Thorin’s formality, but he couldn’t help his mouth turning up into a smile. Thorin returned it with a smile of his own.

“I’m not finished with you yet, Thorin,” Gandalf called from the kitchen. Thorin pulled an irritated face, but went back into the kitchen.

“Where was it?” Bilbo asked.

“On the floor near the wall. And now that I have it, I shall be taking my leave.”

“See that you do,” Bilbo said, raising his head up as if to affect haughtiness.

“You’re leaving? Just like that?” Gandalf asked, and if Thorin didn’t know any better he would have thought that Gandalf sounded rather alarmed.

Thorin glared at Bilbo. “I do not stay where I am not wanted.”

“But what about your quest?”

“There has to be more than one burglar in all of Middle Earth.”

“But none would serve you as well as Bilbo Baggins would,” Gandalf said.

“I’m not a burglar! I’ve never stolen a thing in my life!”

“What can a hobbit do? We will have to venture into the wilds, and these soft creatures were not meant for that,” Thorin said. Bilbo didn’t seem to be sure whether to be offended by that statement or to agree wholeheartedly with it.

“You would be very surprised, Thorin, at what a hobbit can do. Especially this one,” Gandalf said.

“I’ve had enough of surprises,” Thorin said.

“I have thought on this carefully,” Gandalf said, gesticulating with his pipe. “Hobbits are small and have a knack for going about unnoticed. But the most important thing of all is that Smaug would never have smelled a hobbit before.”

Bilbo stood up. “I’m sorry, but I want no part in any adventures,” he said firmly. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“Surely you would feed your guests dinner first,” Gandalf said.

“Have you seen how many dwarves are out there?” Bilbo demanded, pointing to the hallway. “There’s a whole baker’s dozen of them! I don’t have enough food to cook for all of them on such short notice!”

“I don’t think you have much of choice. They’ve already gotten into your pantry,” Thorin informed him.

“ _What_?” Bilbo said. If the dwarves had moved as quickly as Bilbo did to check his larder when Smaug had arrived, there would hardly have been any casualties.

That left just Thorin and Gandalf in the kitchen.

“How could you possibly get into such a situation?” Gandalf asked him, sounding the most bewildered that Thorin had ever heard him. “All you had to do was knock on the door and ask him to join the Company! And instead, all…this happened,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

“What does it matter? We will just have to find another burglar.”

“No,” Gandalf said sharply. “It must be Bilbo Baggins.”

“Why?” Thorin asked. He could hear Bilbo yelling at his dwarves about food and chairs.

“This is no minor undertaking. If this quest is to succeed at all, it must be the work of fate. I would not have suggested the idea to you and helped you organize the quest if I did not think that it could be done, but I wholeheartedly believe that this quest cannot succeed without Bilbo Baggins. Destiny works in strange ways, Thorin Oakenshield, and even I cannot see where how its tangled threads converge. But if there is one thing I know, it is that your quest will fail without that hobbit, that particular hobbit and no other,” Gandalf said, standing up with a sweep of his gray robes. “Do whatever you must for him to join the quest! Get on your knees and apologize if you ever want to see Erebor free of the dragon.” With that, Gandalf swept out of the room.

Surely Gandalf was telling the truth when he said that he believed that the quest could not succeed without Bilbo Baggins, but was it possible that he was deceived? Gandalf himself had admitted that he could not see how the threads of fate converged, and if it was fated to be, wouldn’t Bilbo have to come anyways, regardless of whether or not Thorin apologized to him? But what if Thorin apologizing was the thing that made Bilbo accompany them on their quest? Did that mean that he was fated to apologize to Bilbo? Destiny, Thorin decided, was all very confusing. And what had Thorin done wrong? It was the hobbit who was wholly at fault in this situation.

Dinner. Dinner would help clear his mind.

Thorin navigated the chaos that was the dining room and took his place at the head of the table. Bilbo didn't even notice him, he was so preoccupied with the other dwarves taking his food.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, and thanks for all the lovely comments on the last chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Most of this is just transcribed from the movie. I really hate doing that, so that's part of why it took so long. Also, there were a few words that I'm uncertain about ("jaxie" and "barons" in "barons of yore") so if anyone knows what they're actually saying and how it is spelled I would be very grateful if you would tell me.~~
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to akblake for helping me translate!

The table was so laden with food that it groaned. It was probably an antique too. Thorin could barely see the wood between all the dishes piled with food.

Yet in the face of all this bounty, Thorin found that he wasn’t hungry. He had eaten better and more recently than the rest of his kin, and the argument had left a sour taste in his mouth and sapped the rest of his appetite. Still, he had been conditioned to take food whenever he could get it, so Thorin put a piece of bread in his mouth and chewed it.

From behind him, Thorin heard Bofur say, “Bombur, catch!” and an egg sailed towards Bombur’s face. It landed perfectly in his mouth, and a cheer arose.

Fíli stood up on the table, playing barmaid, asking who wanted an ale. Thorin was just waiting for him to put his muddy boots in the food, but somehow he didn’t.

After he accepted Fíli’s offer, Dwalin promptly poured the ale into Oín’s ear trumpet, who used it like an actual trumpet to blow the ale out.

The hilarity of it was lost on Thorin. The laughter of his friends grated on his ears. He was suddenly acutely aware of what this looked like to the eyes of outsiders. To Bilbo’s eyes. Dwarves already had a reputation for being unfriendly, and Thorin did not want to add uncouth to Bilbo’s perception.

Thorin did not participate in the ale drinking contest or the ensuing burpfest. He turned around to get Bilbo’s reaction to the scene. Their eyes met and they both looked away simultaneously. When Thorin remembered that he was brave and not to be cowed by a simple hobbit and turned his eyes back to Bilbo, Bilbo had wandered into his bare pantry.

Thorin devoted his attention to eating along with everyone else, once they had finished the preliminaries.

“Are you forming your apology?” Gandalf asked him.

“Why should I?”

“You know why!”

“I could always hobbitnap him,” Thorin said.

“It would be a lot easier for everyone if you just apologized,” Gandalf said. “If you cannot even apologize for something as simple as this, your pride will be your downfall.”

“Simple? You call this simple?”

“It’s nothing more than a misunderstanding with some hurt feelings. I’m sure that once the two of you have slept on it you will find your reactions very foolish come the light of day.”

Thorin didn’t think so.

The fact that Thorin was in a foul mood and everyone knew it didn’t stop them from being merry. Balin and Dwalin at least showed some concern for him, trying to draw him into conversation, but even they gave up when they got nothing but grunts in reply.

What was Bilbo going to eat? The thought nagged at him. Thorin wondered if maybe he shouldn’t offer their host some of his own food.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin said. He had not spoken loudly, but apparently everyone had heard him because they stopped their own conversations to see what new drama would unfold in the saga of Thorin and Bilbo.

“Yes?” Bilbo said from behind him, voice tentative. Thorin turned around to face him.

“Would you like to join us?” Thorin asked, feeling a fool. He was asking his own host to dinner!

“I’d, um, I’d love to, it’s just that…”

Thorin noticed that there was no extra chairs, nor was there room for any.

“Thorin’s got a lap,” Fíli suggested.

Thorin also had a glare that could melt stone. Fíli cleared his throat and looked away, adjusting his coat.

Thorin turned to Bilbo, whose face was red. Thorin wasn’t sure if he was blushing in embarrassment or flushing with anger.

“You can pull a stool up beside Thorin, dear boy,” Gandalf said.

“Right. I’ll…I’ll go do that then,” Bilbo said and went off to fetch a stool.

Gandalf looked at Thorin. Thorin looked at Gandalf.

“Be courteous to the hobbit,” he commanded everyone.

Their hushed conversation was curtailed when Bilbo came back bearing a stool. Thorin scooted his chair over so towards Bofur, who made room for him by scooting closer to Balin, and so on down the line until they couldn’t move Bombur over, and so Bilbo had a place to sit. Next to Thorin.

Thorin realized that Bilbo might want something to eat. His eyes scanned the table at the same time that Bilbo’s did, taking in the devastation.

Gandalf looked at Thorin, and Thorin cleared his throat.

“I’m not that hungry,” Thorin said to Bilbo, offering him his plate.

“Thank you…Thorin,” Bilbo said taking the plate and gingerly nibbling the food on it.

Bilbo had a nice face. Thorin liked to see his jaw work, liked to see him take things in his mouth and—

“What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?” Balin asked, saving Thorin’s mind from going down that particular rabbit hole. “Did they all come?”

That was a good topic to deflate Thorin’s burgeoning erection. “Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms,” Thorin said.

“And what the dwarves of the Iron Hills say?” Dwalin asked. “Is Daín with us?”

Thorin sighed and looked down at his hands. “They will not come.”

A murmur of disappointment ran through the room, but it was not unexpected. Bilbo was looking at him with the confused interest of someone who wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but when Thorin caught his eye he looked back down at his plate.

“They say this quest is ours, and ours alone.”

“You’re…going on a quest,” Bilbo said. Thorin had been taking a drink from his tankard when Bilbo spoke up, and the unexpected sweetness of hearing his voice made Thorin swallow his ale the wrong way.

Gandalf came to his rescue, however. “Bilbo! My dear fellow, would you mind fetching us some light?” he asked. Bilbo went off to fetch a light, and Gandalf removed a folded up piece of parchment from his robe.

“Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak.”

“The Lonely Mountain,” Bilbo read over Thorin’s shoulder. Thorin tried to ignore the heat of the halfling’s body.

“Aye! Oín has read the portents, and the portents say it is time!” Gloín said. There were muffled groans from the company as Gloín harped on the portents yet again.

“Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain—as it was foretold! When the birds of old return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end,” Oín said.

“So…what beast?” Bilbo asked.

“Well that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne firebreather. Teeth like razors, claws like meathooks. Extremely fond of precious metals.”

“Yes I know what a dragon is,” Bilbo said.

“I’m not afraid!” Ori said, jumping up suddenly. “I’m up for it! I’ve give him a taste of dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!”

Such a display of the bravado of youth. Ori didn’t even have an iron weapon! Dori pulled his little brother down.

“This task would be difficult enough with an army behind us,” Balin said. “But we number just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best, nor brightest.”

Balin’s diplomacy seemed to have deserted him, or he thought that the truth would better serve here, but that didn’t stop the rest of the company from being offended. Thorin winced and almost turned around to look and Bilbo and see what he made of the Company’s squabbles.

Fíli slapped his hand on the table. “We may be few in number. But we’re fighters—all of us! To the last dwarf!” he said.

Thorin was a bit proud. He must get his eloquence from his uncle.

“And you forget we have a wizard in company!” Kíli chimed in. “Gandalf would have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!”

They all looked to Gandalf.

“Oh, well, no,” Gandalf started, holding up a hand. “I wouldn’t say—”

“How many then?” Dori asked.

“What?” Gandalf asked.

“How many dragons have you killed?” Dori said.

Thorin looked at Gandalf. He knew Gandalf had never slain a dragon in his life. He was a wizard, not a hero, but the rest of the company seemed to have a rather higher estimation of Gandalf than was warranted. Gandalf coughed out smoke, but Dori would not be forestalled.

“Go on! Give us a number!” Dori cried.

They company erupted into fighting when Gandalf did not reply. Thorin stared straight ahead into empty space, not wanting to look at Bilbo or the rest of the company. He could feel the warmth of Bilbo right beside him.

“Excuse me—please, please,” Bilbo said, trying to calm down the Company, not that his voice could even be heard above the din. All right, that tore it.

“Enough!” Thorin roared. The minute he stood up, everyone sat back down and stopped talking. Even Bilbo was not immune to it, though Thorin’s admonition had not been for him.

“If we have read the signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing. Wondering. Weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?” he said, clenching his fist.

Cheers rose up from the Company, and Thorin risked a look at Bilbo to see what he thought of his speech. Bilbo was looking at him like he was seeing Thorin with new eyes. Thorin hoped that was a good thing, but Balin deflated his mood.

“You forget, the front gate is sealed! There is no way into the mountain.” Balin said. Thorin sat down and risked a glance towards Bilbo to see what he thought of him now, but Bilbo was watching Balin talk.

“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true,” Gandalf said, and a key appeared in his hand as if by magic. A very familiar looking key.

“How came you by this?” Thorin demanded.

“It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safekeeping. It is yours now,” Gandalf said, and handed the key to Thorin. Thorin gazed at it in wonder. Yes, this was the very same key that Thorin had seen so many times hanging around his father’s neck.

“If there is a key, there must be a door,” Fíli said.

Gandalf nodded and tapped the map he had unfolded with the stem of his pipe. “These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls.”

“There’s another way in,” Kili said, smiling and clapping his brother on the back.

“Well, if we can find it, but dwarf doors are invisible when closed,” Gandalf said with a sigh. “The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map, and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-Earth who can.”

Thorin didn’t like the sound of that. He looked at Gandalf.

“The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage,” Gandalf said, looking at Bilbo. Bilbo paused with a hunk of bread halfway to his mouth and realized that Gandalf was watching him. “But if we are careful, and clever, I believe that it can be done.”

“That’s why we need a burglar,” Ori said. Was everyone just a bit slow today? Or did this warren seem to addle everyone’s wits, like it did Thorin’s?

“And a good one too,” Bilbo said, putting down his half-chewed piece of bread. “An expert, I’d imagine.”

“And are you?” Gloín asked. Thorin suddenly realized that he might not have communicated the message that Bilbo wasn’t actually a burglar.

“Am I what?” Bilbo asked.

“He said he’s an expert!” Oín said. Like he could tell! Oín was as deaf as a post, even with his ear trumpet. This wasn’t going well. Bilbo swiveled around to look at Thorin on purpose, eyes wide and accusing.

“Me? No!” Bilbo said. “No, no, no. I’m not a burglar,” he said “I’ve never stolen a thing in my life!”

“I’m afraid I will have to agree with Mr. Baggins,” Balin said. After all, he had been there for almost the entire nude fiasco. “He’s hardly burglar material.”

Bilbo nodded emphatically.

“Aye, the wild is no place for gentlefolk who neither fight nor fend for themselves,” Dwalin said. He looked at Thorin when he said that, and Thorin had to close his mouth against a reply in defense of Bilbo. What was he thinking? Dwalin was right! The wild was no place for Bilbo. An image of Bilbo, laying down on dark, scraggly grass, hair fanned out behind him. It was reminiscent of Thorin’s actual memories of Bilbo in bed, only in this image, blood seeped from a wound in his abdomen, and his face was pale. No.

The Company erupted into arguments again, and Thorin drank the last of his ale to try and clear away the image in his head.

“Enough!” Gandalf said, his voice echoing with power. He stood up, seemingly a giant in the tiny hobbit hole. “If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!”

Well, that seemed to be news to Bilbo, judging by the look on his face.

“Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet,” Gandalf said, his voice returning to normal. “In fact, they can pass unseen by most, if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins,” he said to Thorin. “There’s a lot more to him than appearances suggest.”

Thorin had the feeling that Gandalf meant that more as a warning to keep his cock out of Bilbo than the whole won’t-survive-in-the-wild thing.

“And he’s got a great deal more to offer than any of you know!” Gandalf continued. Thorin was already quite aware of that, thank you very much. “Including himself.”

The startled rabbit look on Bilbo’s face that had been present since Gandalf had started speaking intensified.

“You must trust me on this,” Gandalf said. Thorin wasn’t sure if Gandalf was speaking to him or to Bilbo.

“Very well,” Thorin said. “We will do it your way.” Not that Thorin sort of didn’t want it to happen this way either.

“No, no, no—”

“Give him the contract,” Thorin told Balin, holding his hand out to silence Bilbo.

“Please—”

“We’re in—we’re off!” Bofur said, and company laughed.

“It’s just the usual. Summary of out of pocket expenses, time required, renumeration. Funeral arrangements. So forth,” Balin said. Thorin took the contract from Balin and slapped it against Bilbo’s chest with perhaps more force than necessary, and certainly did not cop a feel and let his hand slide down Bilbo’s chest.

“Funeral arrangements?” Bilbo walked into the hallway where the light was better.

“I cannot guarantee his safety,” Thorin told Gandalf in low tones. As much as the words made his gut twist, he couldn’t, and he was being selfish for wanting Bilbo to come along. It wouldn’t do Bilbo any good, and it was highly doubtful that Thorin could expect…what had happed today again.

“Understood,” Gandalf said.

“Nor will I be responsible for his fate.”

Gandalf looked at him, as if he was wondering what exactly Thorin meant by that. “Agreed,” he said.

“Terms, cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one fourteenth of total profit, if any,” Bilbo said, reading the contract out loud. “Seems fair.”

Gandalf, for some reason, was looking and Bilbo and chuckling, and then looking back at Thorin. Thorin was watching Bilbo as well, but he did not see what was so funny.

“Present company shall not be liable for inflicted by or sustained including but not limited to lacerations…evisceration? Incineration?” Bilbo asked, giving Thorin a look.

“Oh, aye, he’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye,” Bofur said helpfully. Thorin seriously considered smacking his urges towards helpfulness out of him.

Bilbo put the contract down and made a little noise. Thorin noticed that his skin was rapidly loosing color. Thorin was about to ask what was wrong, but Balin beat him to it.

“You alright, laddie?” Balin asked.

Bilbo put his hands on his knees and blew out breaths, then stood up. “Feel a bit faint,” he said. Thorin stood up, wondering if Bilbo needed assistance.

“Think furnace—with wings!” Bofur said.

“Air. I need air,” Bilbo said.

“Flash of light. Searing pain. And poof! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash!” Bofur continued. This time, Thorin did smack him, forcing Bofur back into his seat with a glare.

Thorin watched Bilbo, who made a strange noise and a face as if he was considering Bofur’s words, and with a tiny peep of “Nope,” he fainted. Thorin managed to catch him before he hit the ground.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update. I took the summer off to work on my original novel. I'm planning on having this story completed by the end of August, but with college starting up again and me moving we'll have to see.

“Very helpful, Bofur,” Gandalf grumbled. Thorin dragged Bilbo upright. What were you supposed to do with a person who had fainted?

“Set him in a chair. I’ll get him something hot to drink,” Gandalf said, and Thorin picked Bilbo up, grateful for instruction.

Bilbo was limp in Thorin’s arms, and his lips were parted slightly. Thorin hated that his first urge was to kiss him. Bilbo had made it quite clear that he would not be receptive to any of Thorin’s advances, and Thorin was not going to force himself upon Bilbo where he was unwanted. It stung, though. Even though he had been completely flabbergasted and bemused when Bilbo asked…begged…insisted that Thorin fuck him, Thorin had overcome his reservations and made love to the hobbit. Multiple times. Now he wished that he had thought with his head instead of his dick. He wasn’t sure how he could have known that it was not he the hobbit was truly after, but he should have. Somehow.

Bilbo’s head flopped to the side when Thorin set him in the chair.

Thorin saw Dwalin in the archway to the room, just in case Thorin needed any help. Thorin glared at him. He could handle a tiny little hobbit on his own, thank you very much.

Dwalin snorted and crossed his arms, leaning in the archway.

“What?” Thorin demanded.

“You like him,” Dwalin said.

Thorin stiffened, then snorted. “I’m not young or stupid enough to feel affection for everyone I happen to stick my cock in.”

“Well, you’re not young, but the jury’s still out on the stupid part. You should apologize. Do you want him to come or not?”

“Yes. No.”

Dwalin did not appear illuminated by Thorin’s answer and raised his eyebrow.

“I do not wish for the halfling to come, but Gandalf’s foresight insists that without the hobbit, our quest will fail,” Thorin said. He looked at Bilbo, still slumped and limp. The firelight flickered on Bilbo’s skin, illuminating its unusual pallor. How long did people stay passed out, anyways?

“You sure he’s just not telling you that?” Dwalin asked.

“He seemed very insistent, and distressed when Bilbo said that he didn’t want to go on the quest. He did not arrange our…meeting, so he is unlikely to be playing matchmaker.”

Gandalf returned with the aforementioned hot drink. Thorin had no idea how much the wizard had heard of he and Dwalin’s conversation, but it wasn’t important.

Gandalf pressed the mug into Thorin’s hands and Thorin stepped back as he examined Bilbo. “Is he supposed to wake up by now?” Thorin asked.

“He’s probably just tired,” Gandalf said. “He should regain consciousness shortly.”

“Are you absolutely sure that this is necessary? How will a burglar that faints at the mere mention of incineration be able to steal anything from Smaug?”

Gandalf straightened to his full height as much as the low ceilings allowed. “I will have you know that it is perfectly usual for hobbits to faint under considerable emotional distress. They are delicate creatures, not like dwarves. If the whole…incident with you had not occurred, it is unlikely he would have fainted.”

“And you think I should take a delicate little hobbit with me out into the wild?”

“You, and I daresay Bilbo as well, will be surprised at how much strength he possesses.”

Gandalf was interrupted by a knock on the door. Thorin, Gandalf, and Dwalin all turned in unison to look at the door.

Gandalf frowned. “Now who could that be? All of the dwarves have arrived, have they not? We do not have a latecoming volunteer?”

“Highly unlikely,” Thorin said, but he went to open the door anyways.

The door swung open to reveal a soggy hobbit. Thorin realized was Malc Falstoe when he saw the hobbit shrink back when he saw that it was Thorin that had opened the door. The resolute look on his face fled.

“What do you want?” Thorin asked, none too politely.

Malc drew himself up, rallying his courage, and told Thorin, “I demand an explanation!”

“I don’t like you,” Thorin said, and shut the door.

He had just turned around when Malc opened the door on his own.

“That’s hardly an excuse to try and drown me! You can’t just drown everybody you don’t like!”

Thorin slammed the door shut on his face. Again.

Malc started pounding on the door. Thorin opened in again and leaned on the doorframe, making himself as intimidating as possible.

“Do I have to do something more permanent to get rid of you?” Thorin growled.

Malc’s hand shrank back from where it was raised to knock again. “What have you done to Bilbo?”

“Scared him out of his wits, but no more.”

“I demand to see him!”

“He’s indisposed at the moment.”

“What have you done to him, you ruffians?” Malc asked, trying to push past Thorin. Thorin blocked Malc with his arm and used his other hand to push Malc back.

“He had a fright and fainted. There’s nothing any of us can do until he wakes up. I’ll tell him you called.”

Thorin slammed the door on Malc’s face again and hoped that it would stay slammed.

“He’s stirring,” Gandalf called to Thorin. Thorin merely checked that Bilbo was indeed stirring before excusing himself. Thorin was probably not the first thing Bilbo wanted to lay eyes on when he woke up. Even if Thorin might want to see that warm, sleepy smile on Bilbo’s face again that made heat curl inside his stomach.

“I’ll be all right. Just let me sit quietly for a moment,” Bilbo said as Thorin wandered off. He didn’t wander too far, though. He saw Balin sitting nearby, close enough within eavesdropping distance, and settled down across from him.

“Well, you’ve certainly made a muck of it now, haven’t you lad?” Balin asked.

“Don’t remind me,” Thorin said, looking away.

Balin grinned at him. “Well, it was certainly nice while it lasted, eh?” he said, punching Thorin in the shoulder.

“Aye. That it was,” Thorin said.

“Listen to yourself! Sighing already over a lad you’ve just met?”

“I wasn’t sighing,” Thorin protested.

Balin gave him a look.

“I was not.”

“Fine. You weren’t sighing. But do you want the hobbit to come or not?”

“That is Bilbo’s own decision. But I do not think that he is ready for the wild, and I cannot protect him.”

“So your mouth says no, but your heart…?”

Thorin chuckled. “It’s not my heart, Balin.”

“Well, whatever it may be, it’s got you stuck on our burglar.”

“It is but a passing fancy.”

Balin shrugged and they both stopped talking to better eavesdrop on the conversation in the next room.

There was a knock on the door. Malc again?

“No, no, NO! I do not need any more dwarves in my house!” Bilbo yelled. “Go away!”

But the knocking continued.

Thorin wanted to see this. He stood up and walked into the hallway to get a good view, and Balin peeked his head around the corner.

“I said, GO AWAY!” Bilbo screamed, his face very flushed. But the pounding on the door continued.

Bilbo stomped up to the door. His eyes must have landed on the pile of weapons near the door, because his backtracked and picked up a sword from the top of the heap.

“What do you want?” Bilbo demanded, flinging the door open and pointing the sword—still scabbarded—at poor, unsuspecting Malc Falstoe.

“I…I…Master Baggins?” Malc said, holding his hands up.

“You’re not coming in,” Bilbo said.

“I…oh…um…I’ll…just leave then?”

“You’d best,” Bilbo said, and oh, was that a bit of menace in his tone? Thorin might be getting goosebumps.

Malc shrank back, and Bilbo slammed the door in his face.

“First a dozen damned dwarves, and now another stranger. Don’t you know better than to not invite people to other people’s houses?” Bilbo asked Gandalf.

“I didn’t invite that one,” Gandalf said.

“Then why was he here?”

“You invited him yourself, I believe. If I’m not mistaken, that fellow you’ve just slammed the door on was Malc Falstoe.”

Bilbo’s mouth and eyes suddenly got very wide. “Oh!” he exclaimed, and rushed to the door. He opened it and poked his head out, but apparently Malc was too far away to be summoned back. Or Bilbo had decided against it—for a myriad of good reasons. Such as it being late. There not being any extra room in the house. Because Bilbo didn’t need him anymore because Thorin had done a better job satisfying Bilbo than that tiny hobbit ever could. Lots of good reasons. Bilbo sighed and closed the door.

“I had forgotten all about him,” Bilbo said, tossing the sword back into the heap.

“Well, there’s no help for it now. Let us finish our discussion,” Gandalf said.

Balin and Thorin retreated back to their corner, but it wasn’t too long until they watched as Bilbo walked out of the room and away from the contract.

“It appears we’ve lost our burglar,” Balin said.

Thorin stared at Bilbo’s retreating figure.

“Probably for the best,” Balin continued. “The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants. Miners. Tinkers. Toymakers.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “Hardly the stuff of legends.”

“There are a few warriors amongst us,” Thorin said, smiling at Balin.

“Old warriors,” Balin reminded him.

“I would take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills. For when I called upon them, they answered. Loyalty. Honor. A willing heart. I can ask no more than that.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Balin said, standing up. “You have a choice! You’ve done honorably by our people. You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains. A life of peace and plenty. A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor.”

How could he make Balin understand? There was nothing, not even turning Ered Luin that would satisfy him while the dragon rested inside his mountain, on Thorin’s gold. “From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me,” Thorin said, holding up the key Gandalf had given him. “They dreamt of the day when the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me.”

Balin gave Thorin a sad smile and nodded slightly. “Then we are with you. We will see it done,” he said, clasping Thorin’s shoulder.

Thorin is surprised by the bitterness and melancholy that comes out in his voice as he starts to sing. Old bitterness about losing the mountain, but fresh bitterness as well. It does not taste well on his tongue. Thorin tries to quench the bitter taste in his mouth with his pipe, but it is no use.

Thorin looks at Gandalf, wondering if this is some subtle curse. That he will forever taste this bitterness on his tongue and neither food nor drink nor pipeweed would please him anymore until he apologized to the hobbit. But Gandalf was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to meet Thorin’s gaze.

The end of the song seemed to be the signal for everyone to retire for the night, but Thorin didn’t notice the commotion around him until Kíli touched him on the shoulder.

“Are you going to bed?” he asked Thorin.

Thorin tapped the ashes out of his pipe. “Soon. There is something I must do first.”

“There aren’t going to be any good sleeping places left,” Kíli said. Though Thorin was their king, it was a free for all when it came to sleeping spots on the road. Then Kíli’s smile suddenly turned coy. “Unless you’re planning on sleeping with Bilbo.”

Thorin snorted softly and looked into the fire. “If he would have me,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. “But I will not impose,” he said, straightening. Kíli left, and Thorin went to Bilbo’s room.

He hovered in the doorway, waiting for Bilbo to notice him, but Bilbo was staring into the fire, an abstracted, almost gloomy look on his face. Thorin cleared his throat and stepped past the threshold.

“Oh. Thorin. I didn’t see you there.” Bilbo’s tone had lost much of heat of earlier—of passion and of hate.

Thorin walked until he stood in front of Bilbo, but not close enough to touch. Far enough away to make Bilbo feel comfortable.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft. “For everything.”

Bilbo’s hand twined around his other and he looked down at his interlocking hands. “I’m sorry too. I think we both might have…overreacted a bit.”

Thorin nodded.

“It was…it was nice while it lasted, though,” Bilbo said.

“Very nice.” Thorin had meant for it to be a meaningless agreement, a mere pleasantry, but it came out rough and heated. Thorin felt his cheeks warm up, and a blush stained Bilbo’s face as well.

“I’m sorry—” Thorin started.

“I mean, I did say—” Bilbo said at the same time. They both fell silent, and Bilbo was the first to speak again. “If you’re leaving tomorrow…well, I did say we’d have to make today count, and I’ve only counted to three so far today, so…”

Thorin wondered if he was imagining the invitation to share Bilbo’s bed one last time. He searched Bilbo’s face.

Bilbo huffed. “You’re good in bed, all right? Are you going to—”

Thorin cut Bilbo’s sentence off by surging forward and crushing their lips together, pressing Bilbo into the bed. Bilbo sighed into Thorin’s mouth and ran his fingers through Thorin’s hair.

This time was different from the others. Their passion was tinged with bitterness and desperation. Not the desperation for climax like their first coupling had been, but a desperation for the other’s touch, for hands and lips sliding over heated skin.

“I can’t believe I’m going to have to undress you again,” Bilbo whined as he tried to tug off Thorin’s clothes.

“After all the trouble I went to to get dressed again,” Thorin said. It would probably be easier if he just undressed himself, but he couldn’t bear to stop touching Bilbo. This was ridiculous. He hadn’t even known Bilbo for twenty four hours and yet here he was, sucking his face and humping him desperately, as if they were longtime lovers and Thorin was off to battle on the morn, perhaps never to be seen again. Ridiculous.

Thorin used all of his willpower to stop touching Bilbo long enough to try and undress himself, but Bilbo was having none of it and clung to Thorin even as he withdrew. Thorin took him back almost greedily. He nosed his way up the side of Bilbo’s face, and Bilbo moaned softly. He didn’t really need to get completely undressed, did he? His cock was accessible enough if he just unlaced his breeches.

Bilbo must have had the same idea, because on the next intake of breath there were tiny, clever fingers unlacing him and and tiny, warm fingers stroking his cock. Thorin groaned into Bilbo’s hair and steadied their bodies in preparation for penetration.

He slid in easily, and Bilbo sighed as if some deep longing had suddenly been fulfilled. Perhaps it had.

Now that he was already inside of Bilbo, Thorin realized that this might not have been the best choice of position, having Bilbo on his back while Thorin loved him. He didn’t want to watch Bilbo’s face as they made love for the last time, and Thorin wanted to hide whatever secrets his eyes might reveal.

But Bilbo whined and rocked his hips, so Thorin sealed his mouth over Bilbo’s in a deep kiss and started moving again.

They were loud. Everyone could probably hear Thorin’s labored breaths and Bilbo’s moans. He would really get a ribbing for that in the morning, but right now, he didn’t care. He was dancing the beautiful dance of bodies intertwining. Bilbo was letting Thorin invade him, giving Thorin everything. Thorin could feel and taste his molten core, and whined when orgasm came too near. He wanted to deny the final, ultimate pleasure and stay forever with the soft pleasures of Bilbo’s skin and mouth, but it didn’t happen. Thorin shuddered and let out a long, low groan as he came, and Bilbo came straight after. Thorin could feel Bilbo’s body trying to milk his already spent cock.

Thorin was on top of Bilbo, and they were both slick with sweat. The pounding of blood in Thorin’s ears receded and let him realize how loud their breaths were in the quiet night. Bilbo shifted uncomfortably beneath him, and Thorin got off of him and undressed fully so he could go to bed. Bilbo watched him with sleepy eyes until Thorin was snuggled up against him. Somehow, their hands became intertwined. Thorin pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s head, and went to sleep.

Thorin woke up hot and hard. That seemed to be par for the course when he slept with Bilbo. Not that he’d ever get a chance to do it again, his mind whispered.

Thorin sat up at looked out the window. Still dark. The fire in the room had burned low, but there was enough illumination for Thorin to see his clothes in a heap on the floor. He should probably get dressed.

Bilbo shifted to take up more room now that Thorin was gone, and Thorin felt a strange tugging in his chest suddenly. He clamped down hard on the feeling, though. There was no place for feelings like that.

Thorin leaned over and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead.

“Goodbye, Bilbo,” he said softly, and left.


	7. Chapter 7

No one remarked on the sourness of Thorin’s face, nor the fact that he had spent last night in Bilbo’s room. At least, not after Dwalin opened his mouth and Thorin cut him off with a “If you say one word to me, _I will punch you in the face_.” Words were said, Dwalin’s nose bled all over the floor, but no one else made that mistake.

Where was Bilbo? Surely he couldn’t be sleeping. Thorin didn’t want to see him exactly, quite the opposite in fact, but…it would be nice to know where he was and if he planned to join them. Though they had all tried to be quiet, quiet and fourteen metal-clad dwarves were mutually exclusive. There was a bitter twist to Thorin’s mouth when he thought that perhaps Bilbo had been fucked into an extremely sound sleep.

“Is Master Boggins coming?” Kíli asked, a confused frown on his face.

“No,” Thorin said, sitting heavily into the same chair he had occupied last night and shoveling some ham onto his plate.

“I think that there’s a betting chance that he might,” Nori said.

“What are the odds?” Gloín asked.

“Oh, what shall we say? Seven to three? Does that sound about right?”

“That sounds fine to me. Place me down for him coming,” Gandalf said, taking a small purse out from somewhere underneath his robe and tossing it to Nori. Nori opened it and counted the coins and told Ori to start writing things down.

Murmurs arose within the company, but no one voiced disagreement, so it was decided that the odds should be set at seven to three. They all placed their bets yea or nay while Ori recorded everyone’s position and the amount they had bet.

They had become boisterous while discussing their gambling, and Thorin wondered if Bilbo would wake up to see what was the matter. Or was he already awake and waiting for them to go away?

Nori delicately asked Thorin if he wanted to bet, and Thorin declined to participate.

Fíli raised a question. “How are we going to know if he’s coming or not?”

“Bring him in here and ask him, of course!” Nori said.

“Now hold on, if he’s still asleep, then that’s a pretty strong indicator that he’s not coming, and I think that it should be taken as such,” Gloín said. He had bet against the hobbit accompanying them.

“If he’s asleep, you are not to disturb him,” Thorin said, and his voice sliced through the conversation sharper than a sword. Everyone quieted.

But it was hard to keep this lot quiet.

“Who’s going to go check if Bilbo’s asleep or not?” Kíli whispered a lot louder than he probably thought he did. They all looked at Thorin. At first he thought that it meant that they wanted him to check in on Bilbo and his mouth went dry, and perhaps some of them did, but most likely they were probably asking for permission.

“No one is. If he’s not here by the time we leave, then he’ll have to catch up to us. _If_ he’s coming,” Thorin said. That shut them up. They finished breakfast less merrily than they had started it.

It did not feel final, this departure. His mind should grasp the importance, the finality of this event, but it refused. It persisted in thinking that this was just an ordinary event, not the start of a whole new chapter in his life. He looked around at Bag End, at its homeyness and warmth, and more than ever he yearned for Erebor. The cold stones and cavernous halls would be a balm to the soul that had been seared by hobbits and their looks and ways.

After some amount of dawdling, finally everyone was ready. They lined up by the door, performing last minute checks to see if everything was in order. They had seen neither hide nor hair of Bilbo.

“I suppose that’s his way of telling us that he’s not coming,” Balin said. He could sound disappointed all he wanted, but he had bet against Bilbo coming.

Thorin looked to Gandalf. Gandalf smiled at him. He had been smoking his pipe during everyone’s preparations, since a professional wanderer like himself traveled lightly, with a secretive smile on his face that made Thorin want to punch him.

“I’m ready,” Gandalf told him. That was not what Thorin was asking, and they both knew it. But Thorin refused to put into words his concern for Bilbo, so he shut his mouth.

“All right. Let us begin,” Thorin said, opening the door of Bag End. He walked into the sunlight with a heavy pack and a heavier heart.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and it seemed to be the perfect start to their journey. Except they had no burglar.

They had stabled their ponies elsewhere, since Gandalf had already warned them that there would be no room at Bag End. Hobbits were not much in the habit of riding, it seemed. They were making decent time, but it did not please Thorin, though there was no reason to kill the ponies on the very first day except for Thorin’s desire to already be at Erebor and away from the Shire.

“Wait!” a familiar voice called.

Thorin didn’t turn around. Didn’t breathe.

“Wait!” the voice called again. Ahead of Thorin, Gandalf turned his head. There were cries of _whoa_ as the rest of the Company stopped their ponies.

Thorin finally turned around. Bilbo was running towards them with a pack on his back and the contract in his hand. The rays of midmorning light illuminated Bilbo’s face, but it was also lit from within with joy. This was the Bilbo that Thorin recognized. This was the little minx he had made love to, not the angry, hurt hobbit that had attended their council. Thorin couldn’t breathe.

“I signed it!” Bilbo said, holding aloft the contract. He handed it to Balin, who made a show of inspecting it. Thorin tried to remember how to breathe. In and out. In and out. There was some sort of in-and-out motion that went along with breathing, Thorin knew that, but he wasn’t quite sure how to pull in off in the heat of the moment.

Bilbo and Thorin’s eyes accidentally met. Bilbo looked away almost instantly, distracted by Balin’s pony, but Thorin kept staring at Bilbo.

“Everything appears to be in order,” Balin said. “Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

Everyone cheered. Thorin finally remembered how to breathe. Ah yes, good. Air. Always a good thing.

“Give him a pony,” Thorin said, turning away.

“No, no, no, that won’t be necessary, thank you, I’m sure I can keep up on foot. I’ve done my fair share of walking holidays, you know. Even got as far as Frogmorton once—”

Fíli and Kíli picked up a protesting Bilbo and set him on a pony. Thorin didn’t dare turn around and look, but judging by the snickers of the others and Bilbo’s protests, he probably wasn’t riding that well. He’d have a sore arse come morning—and nope, Thorin was going to shut that track of thought down _right now_ before he did something stupid like take Bilbo off his pony and ravish him in the bushes. Bilbo and his stupid face. Bilbo and his stupid neck with the stupid love bites, purpling into bruises that his cravat didn’t quite cover. How dare he. Would he be all right? Bilbo knew nothing of the wild. It would be safe enough, with everyone else about. Wouldn’t it? No, they were all in equal peril. Only Bilbo didn’t have the resources or knowledge to defend himself. Did he even have a weapon? Thorin didn’t think so. Honestly, even Ori had a slingshot. Not a very distinguished weapon, but a fatal enough one in skilled hands. Perhaps he had a spare that he could lend Bilbo? Did Bilbo even know how to use a slingshot? Oh, bother. This was precisely why he didn’t want Bilbo to come. He was weak. A drain on everyone’s resources. He couldn’t take care of himself, and damn if Thorin didn’t want to take care of him. Thorin had to fight every instinct inside of himself that said to protect and coddle Bilbo, because he couldn’t afford to. There were other lives to think about. He couldn’t throw them all away for the sake of one. Damn him. Damn that hobbit.

Now that it had been ascertained that the hobbit was indeed coming, it was time for all debts to come due. Bags of money started flying as the company paid their debts. Thorin was glad now that he hadn’t bet, because he would have lost.

“Wait, wait, stop! Stop! We have to turn around,” Bilbo cried. The line halted and stared at Bilbo.

“What on earth is the matter?” Gandalf asked, vocalizing Thorin’s thoughts, albeit more politely than Thorin would have.

“I forgot my handkerchief,” Bilbo said.

Handkerchief.

He forgot his handkerchief.

Thorin was going to scream. Okay, that settled it, he hated Bilbo. Yes, that was it. It was good for his emotions to settle on one pole. He hated Bilbo now. All right, he could work with that.

“Here,” Bofur said, tearing off a bit of his tunic and tossing it to Bilbo. “Use this.”

Bilbo caught it, but held it like it might bite him. Everyone laughed, except for Thorin who with his newfound hatred was glaring at Bilbo.

“Move on,” Thorin said, and they did so.

Everything was so much _easier_ when you hated someone. All confusion immediately vanished. How do you feel when they smile at you? Hatred. How do you feel when they frown at you? Hatred. How do you feel when they say something, anything? Hatred. No one ever mentioned how _freeing_ hatred was. Thorin hated a lot of things, but never had it been so easy as this. He put Bilbo in a little box labeled ‘hate’ in his mind stuffed with orcs and dragons and wargs and one little hobbit. Thorin felt lighter than he had in ages.

How did he feel when Bilbo asked if they were going to stop for elevensies? Hate! Disdain! And all other emotions of that ilk. He had stopped his pony, trotted her up to Bilbo, and glared at him as he spoke. “Master Baggins, there will be no rest on this journey. We will not stop to eat, only to break camp. And we certainly will not stop _six times a day_ for all your hobbit fancies.” He turned away from Bilbo and moved back to his place at the head of the line, feeling confident for the first time in his interactions with Bilbo. He didn’t care what anyone else thought. He didn’t give a damn that Balin gave him a reproachful look or that Gandalf shook his head or that Bilbo ducked his head and hardly looked up for the rest of the day. He knew how he was supposed to act now.

Gandalf trotted his pony up until he was abreast with Thorin, abandoning his young charge. Great, that meant that he wanted to talk.

“Do you know, Thorin, what the opposite of hate is?” he asked Thorin.

Thorin was taken aback. Only the first day and he was already speaking in riddles! Well, what did he expect from a wizard.

“The opposite of hate is love,” Thorin said.

“Wrong. The opposite of love, and of hate, is indifference, which I suggest you start treating Bilbo with. It is better to stay silent than to speak ill. Did you not learn that in the nursery?”

Thorin glared at Gandalf, and Gandalf returned to Bilbo, who was likely feeling quite anxious without Gandalf nearby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the rest of the story, but at least another chapter. A new one is not likely to be forthcoming soon because I have an excellent opportunity that involves fixing Original Book and the Sims 4 is coming out. Which is kinda sad, because awkward, unresolved sexual tension abounds in these last few chapters. Maybe I can squeeze in a couple hundred words a day in between everything else.


	8. Chapter 8

True to his word, they stopped only once, at the end of the day. They were still within the bounds of the Shire, so their first night was spent enjoying the comforts of an inn rather than the cold, hard ground.

Bilbo looked at the ground, then at his pony, as if he wasn’t sure how to get from one to the other. Thorin snorted in contempt. In the end, it was Bofur who helped Bilbo off his pony. Well, it was more like catching him as he fell off, but still. Bilbo winced and rubbed his arse. Thorin hastily looked away, entering the establishment. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.

“May I help you?” the innkeeper asked, waddling up to Thorin.

“We number fifteen. One man, one hobbit, and thirteen dwarves,” Thorin told him. He watched the wheels turn in the innkeeper’s head as he calculated if they would all fit.

“It’s going to be a tight squeeze. I happen to have one man-sized bed left, but the rest of you are going to have to sleep two to a bed.”

Thorin nodded. He thought as much. They were a very large party, and not many folk passed through the Shire.

He looked at the tables scattered around the room to see if everyone was inside yet. It appeared so.

“We’re two to a bed. We leave at first light, so do not tarry long over your meal,” Thorin said. He sat down at a table with Balin, Dwalin, and Gandalf. A hobbitmaid bustled around serving soup. Thorin accepted his bowl gratefully.

“Are you upset?” Balin asked Thorin.

Thorin paused at the question, and then slowly continued eating his soup. “Am I upset at what?” he asked in a definitely-not-upset tone of voice.

“That he came.”

“Why would I be?”

Balin made gestures with his hands, but it was Dwalin who said, “Because you’re being an asshole.”

Thorin stared at the two brothers.

“He said it, not me,” Balin told him.

Thorin looked down at his bowl of soup. “I’m not upset. I’m…something else.” What was he feeling? Angry, he reminded himself. Angry. But wasn’t that kind of upset? They needed a new topic of conversation.

“We did not cover as much ground as I would have liked today,” he told them.

“There’s no reason to go any faster. We have made good progress, Thorin. Don’t let your impatience imperil your quest,” Gandalf said.

Thorin could feel his hackles rise, but he was tired. He would finish his supper in brooding silence, have a smoke, and then go to bed.

It had been a very good plan until he became aware of Bilbo’s existence again. Thorin knew that Bilbo was sitting at a nearby table with Bofur, Fíli, and Kíli—not that he had looked, or anything. But it had become impossible to ignore Bilbo’s existence when they were all being quite vocal about it. Thorin did not want to hear his nephews and Bofur talking very loudly to the hobbit, but he didn’t exactly want to shush them either, because that would mean that he had overheard. There was very little to overhear from Bilbo though, since the others drowned out his quiet voice. The one time Thorin happened to glance at him, it happened to be the exact moment he started wincing and wiggling around in his seat uncomfortably. He was probably doing it on purpose, just to annoy Thorin.

Thorin started to reconsider the smoking part of his plan. He didn’t think he could tolerate being down here any longer, but thankfully the innkeeper intervened and struck up a chat with Bilbo which appeared to be very animated, but not very boisterous. Fíli turned his attention to trying to drown his brother in soup and/or beer, and Thorin didn’t really care what Bofur was doing as long as it was quiet. In the end, he was glad for the chance to smoke. It did more to calm his nerves than anything else so far. Not that his nerves were unsettled or anything…

Denial is exhausting.

Thorin was the first one to head upstairs and fall into bed. He thanked his long years of training to be able to fall asleep on command. He did not want to be awake with his thoughts right now.

 

That didn’t keep him from waking up in the middle of the night with a very large erection, though. Thorin was disoriented for a moment before his eyes adjusted to the ambient moonlight and realized that Bilbo was in his bed. Thorin had been spooning him and apparently grinding against him before he had woken up. He was sweating, though he was only in his undershirt and breeches. Why was Bilbo so bloody hot? And why was he in Thorin’s bed? Thorin tried to roll over on his back, but only succeeded in almost falling off of the bed. Thorin put as much distance between Bilbo and himself as possible, which amounted to about two and a half inches. Thorin would have kicked off his half of the blanket, if he even had half. He about about one-eighth of the heavy quilt draped on his left thigh, so he shrugged it off and gave the whole thing to Bilbo.

Thorin’s erection stood out on the fabric of his breeches, tented and proud. There was already a small wet patch on the tip. He needed to go somewhere to take care of this. He really didn’t think Bilbo would appreciate it if Thorin jerked off in bed with him, even if it was all his fault. Thorin had just made his mind to go outside somewhere and take care of it when Bilbo rolled over, flinging a leg and arm over Thorin and snuggling close. Bilbo was hard as well, and was practically humping Thorin’s leg.

Thorin let out a growl of frustration. “Bilbo!” he whispered, shaking the hobbit.

“Huh? Wha?” Bilbo asked sleepily. He came to rather quickly when he realized the position they were in. He tried to scooch away from Thorin, only to almost fall off the bed. It was only because Thorin reached out and grabbed his hand and hauled him back up that Bilbo wasn’t sprawled on the floor.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said a bit breathlessly. The sound made Thorin’s cock twitch, and he fucking hated Bilbo for it.

“What are you doing in my bed?” Thorin demanded, not letting go of Bilbo’s wrist.

“All the other beds were taken! The innkeeper wouldn’t stop talking, so I was the last one up and all the other beds were full!” Bilbo’s voice had risen in volume, and Thorin shushed him.

“One of us is going to have to go. I cannot be in the same bed with you without this,” Thorin said, and Bilbo seemed to notice his erection for the first time.

“Oh,” Bilbo said, his mouth making a pretty o shape.

Thorin growled again.

“Well how do you think I feel?” Bilbo hissed at him.

“I think you feel entirely unremorseful,” Thorin said.

“Unremorseful? Ugh!” Bilbo said. He rolled over, this time not almost falling off, though it was a close call. “You are such a…such a…”

“A what? A fool? An asshole? A…I’m leaving,” Thorin said abruptly, getting out of bed and starting to dress himself.

“Fine! Go!”

“I am going!”

“Well then stay gone!”

“I was here first!”

“Well that’s too bad, because I’m here now,” Bilbo said.

Thorin pushed Bilbo off the bed, and Bilbo squealed as he hit the floor.

“Knock it off!” someone shouted. Great, they had woken everyone else up.

“Take your lover’s spat elsewhere!”

“Kiss and make up!” That one was definitely Kíli, and delivered with a giggle. Thorin made a mental note to give him the worst chores for a week.

Thorin tugged on his boots and left. The air outside held a springtime coolness that refreshed him. It was a clear night, and the full moon illuminated the countryside. He looked back towards where they had come from, and it was an entirely different vista by moonlight. The world had suddenly turned into this strange, silvery place with deceptive depth. The light was enough to see by, but not see truly. It was an entirely different world out here, and Thorin felt a lunatic’s laugh bubble up his throat. It had only been a day. It had only been a day, and Bilbo had already driven him mad. He was hopeless.

Thorin slumped against the building, his back hitting the cold stones. Dark strands of his hair fell into his face and Thorin pushed them back.

He should go back. He should leave Bilbo asleep in the inn while the rest of them went on to rescue Erebor from Smaug. They didn’t need a burglar. Thorin would figure something out.

A sharp ache in his groin brought his attention back to the matter that was protesting not being in hand. His erection had not flagged under the cool air. He unlaced himself and took his cock out. The moonlight seemed to make it a strange thing as well. Thorin tilted his head as he looked at it. It seemed a foreign object, like it wasn’t attached to Thorin and he hadn’t had it and handled it since the day he was born. But something jolted him out of his reverie, and he started to stroke himself.

Bilbo. He didn’t want to think about Bilbo. How on earth had he managed to land himself in this strange situation? He had just knocked on the door and the damn hobbit had tripped over himself to let Thorin fuck him, and Thorin had been stupid and had fucked him and it had all turned out to be a colossal mistake and they both sorely regretted it.

A little voice whispered inside his head that perhaps it wouldn’t have been different if he hadn’t slept with Bilbo. That the only difference would be that Thorin knew for a fact the taste of his skin and the little noises Bilbo made in the throes of pleasure and didn’t have to have fantasy supply them. That he would still be horribly, desperately attracted to Bilbo. Thorin hated it. Hated Bilbo. Every sensible thing inside of Thorin was screaming that Bilbo was Very Bad News, but like the damn fool he was, he wanted him anyways. Bilbo exerted a dangerous power over him, and Thorin would rather he not. But how to reclaim his stupid attraction? Thorin hadn’t felt so helpless in the throes of a crush since he had be able to grow a full beard. Attraction needed to be starved, and distance was the thing to do it, but it was impossible to gain any distance from Bilbo. On the road, they lived in each other’s pockets. Why did he even allow Bilbo to come? He should have sent him back home with a crestfallen, kicked-puppy face. Why had he let Bilbo join his company? For the same reason he wanted Bilbo out of it—overwhelming attraction.

There was nothing even attractive about the hobbit. He was tiny, didn’t have a beard, didn’t wear shoes, couldn’t fend for himself, he was fat and he wore stupid clothes. It was obsession he was feeling, and not the good kind. He wanted to grip Bilbo so hard that his fingers would leave bruises for weeks and Bilbo would wince with pain and—Thorin gritted his teeth, and the orgasm that had been building in the back of his mind came to a head.

He slumped back even more, letting his hand bang against the stone wall. He was a fool. A dwarf drained of any sense.

Thorin listened to the sounds of the animals in the night. The crickets and the birds and the frogs all calling to each other. They were probably mating calls. Well, he hoped that they had better luck than himself. His mind was not clear, but he could stand out here forever and not gain any clarity. Thorin straightened his clothes and headed back inside.

Bilbo was already asleep, or was doing a very good job of faking it, when Thorin crawled back into bed. He was facing away from Bilbo and had not made any demands of the blanket. He couldn’t have gotten the blanket if he wanted to, though, since Bilbo was practically cocooned in it. Thorin closed his eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this chapter I don't know how many times to try and find an ending where I didn't end up hating Thorin and/or Bilbo or break the story, but it just wasn't possible. I hate Thorin so much right now. It looks like the rest of the story will be from Bilbo's POV until Thorin can get his shit together.


	9. Chapter 9

Rivendell was more beautiful than Bilbo could have ever imagined, but he hardly noticed. The moon shone bright and strains of elf song filled the air. Bilbo strained to catch the words, but they eluded him.

He sighed and hugged himself.

“There you are!” Bofu said from behind Bilbo, entering the balcony Bilbo was standing on through the archway. “How did the thing go?”

“Lord Elrond was able to read the map, but he doesn’t approve of our purpose,” Bilbo said, his voice colorless.

“Well that’s too bad for him, because we’re going to do it anyways. Fa! What does he know? Look at this place!” Bofur asked, sweeping his hand across the moonlit landscape of Rivendell.

“I suppose,” Bilbo said, turning back to the balcony railing. He was not able to actually see over it, being built with the height of an elf in mind, but he was able to stand on the carved part of the railing and look over it.

“Hey now, what’s wrong?” Bofur asked, stepping closer and putting his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder.

Bilbo’s throat closed. It was difficult to speak, but his body spoke for him when he shrugged the shoulder Bofur’s hand rested on and laid his head on Bofur’s hand. Even if he could speak, how would Bilbo explain all of his swirling anxieties? His stomach and mind were like balls of yarn hopelessly knotted together. He hardly knew where they ended or where they began, or even what they were. His eyes stung threateningly of tears, so he closed them.

“What’s wrong?” Bofur repeated, gently turning Bilbo around and tipping his face upward. Bilbo avoided Bofur’s hand under his chin, turning his head down. He didn’t want to cry. Not in front of Bofur, who had been so good to him so far. But then Bofur pulled him in a tight hug and it was so exactly what he needed that Bilbo burst into tears.

“Sorry, sorry,” he choked out, grabbing handfuls of Bofur’s coat like he was drowning. “I’m just…I’m just…whining, I suppose,” Bilbo said with a sniff. Bofur hugged Bilbo even tighter and his hand reached the nape of his neck and smoothed down the curls there.

“Shh, shh, it’ll all turn out right, just you see.”

Bilbo knew that Bofur’s words were meaningless platitudes but he felt so damn grateful that he didn’t care.

“I’m just so lonely,” Bilbo said. As if that word was the obstruction that had been removed, a whole torrent of words poured out of Bilbo’s mouth. “Hobbits aren’t meant for this! I want more food! I want friends! I want, I want—” Here Bilbo’s speech devolved into sobs. Mastering himself somewhat, Bilbo continued, “I mean, you all are…aren’t horrible, some of you are even nice! But you’re dwarves. Oh, don’t take that the wrong way!”

“I know what you mean,” Bofur said. Bilbo looked up at him, and there was understanding in his eyes.

“And Thorin!” Bilbo said, burying his face into Bofur’s chest. “Ugh, Thorin!”

“I know what you mean,” Bofur said again, this time with more humor coloring his voice.

“Did you call?” Thorin’s voice was deep and unexpected. Bilbo jumped and Bofur spun around.

Thorin was standing in the archway between the hallway and the balcony. He had already taken in the sight before him, and it was evident that it displeased him. Bilbo and Bofur hastily disengaged from each other.

“No, I did not. Go away, Thorin,” Bilbo somehow found the presence of mind to say.

“You’re crying,” Thorin said, stepping forward. Bilbo hastily wiped his face as Bofur scuttled away. Soon Thorin was in front of Bilbo, closer than he had been since…

The air between them felt warm and charged, like a muggy day before a thunderstorm sets in. Bilbo watched Thorin’s hand come closer and closer to his face until the rough pads of his thumbs swept across Bilbo’s cheek. Bilbo’s breath hitched.

But Thorin turned his face to Bofur. “Has he upset you?” Thorin asked Bilbo, not looking at him. There was steel in his voice, and as much challenge as if he had held Orchrist to Bofur’s throat.

“No, no, I was already upset over something silly and he gave me a hug to cheer me up,” Bilbo said. He didn’t know if Thorin heard him, though. He was still staring at Bofur. Bilbo grabbed Thorin’s forearm and diverted Thorin’s gaze back to himself.

“What has upset you?” Thorin asked. His voice was not kind as Bofur’s had been. Instead, it was imperious, like Thorin felt it his right to know, not of any desire to help Bilbo.

“Nothing. I suppose Rivendell has got me feeling maudlin.”

Thorin tilted his head slightly. Bilbo was very conscious of Thorin’s left thumb resting on Bilbo’s cheek and his right hand cupping the side of his face. Was Thorin going to kiss him? He wouldn’t actually mind if Thorin kissed him now, Bilbo realized with not a little self-loathing. He wouldn’t mind if Thorin wanted to hold him, or to make love to him again. If he could stop making an ass of himself for five minutes, Bilbo was ashamed to realize that he would gladly fall back into Thorin’s arms.

But Thorin let Bilbo go and stiffened up slightly. “Stop being ridiculous. We leave early in the morning. Go to bed. Both of you,” Thorin said, eying Bofur who was stilling standing slightly apart from Bilbo and Thorin.

“Good idea,” Bofur said, taking the hint and leaving.

“I trust that you will feel less mawkish when we leave,” Thorin told Bilbo.

“I can only hope so,” Bilbo snapped.

Thorin looked confused for a moment, but wiped his face clear of expression and with a bow, left.

While Bilbo was strongly disinclined to follow Thorin’s command to go to bed, he was very tired. He sighed, pushed himself off the balcony, and went to his room. Before he had gone too far, he spied Bofur standing in a hallway, as if he had been waiting for Bilbo.

“You all right?” he asked with a studious air of unconcern as he walked beside Bilbo.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, spitting out the word almost with loathing. He was glad that he was not about to cry again, and that anger had taken sadness’s place. “You know, I would have slept with him again if he could stop being a jerk for just five minutes!”

“Would you have?” Bofur asked. It appeared that this information surprised him.

Bilbo sighed. “I’m not proud of myself, but yes. I am lonely, and I miss being underneath someone.” Their eyes met, but Bofur looked down immediately.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be lonely. We dwarves are jealous creatures in all manners of our rights.”

“And does Thorin have any rights to me?”

“He thinks he does, and that’s all that matters.”

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” Bofur said.

“Can…can we just cuddle?” Bilbo asked.

They turned a corner, and Thorin was leaning on the wall next to Bilbo’s assigned room.

“I’d better be off,” Bofur said, turning tail and going away as quickly as possible.

Bilbo had the suspicion that Thorin had heard those last few words.

“I didn’t realize your rooms were on this corridor,” Bilbo said, casting about for something to say.

“They’re not,” Thorin said.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Making sure you arrived here safely.”

“What did you think could happen to me here in Rivendell?”

“Plenty of things,” Thorin said darkly.

They stood in front of the door to Bilbo’s room awkwardly for a few moments more. Bilbo had the feeling that Thorin was waiting to be asked in.

“Do you…?” Bilbo asked, trailing off.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Can…can I come in?” Thorin said. His voice was hesitant for the first time that Bilbo could remember hearing it.

“I suppose so,” Bilbo said, opening the door.

The room was illuminated by a single candle on the bedside table. Everything was elf sized, so Bilbo was going to have some trouble getting into the bed. Thorin seemed to realize that, so he went to the side of the bed and held his hand out for Bilbo.

Bilbo didn’t usually sleep in what he currently had on, but he wondered about the propriety of undressing in front of Thorin.

“Are you going to spend the night with me?” Bilbo asked, not undressing. If Thorin wanted him undressed, he could do it in bed.

“If you would like me to.” Thorin’s voice was rich and deep and send a shiver down Bilbo’s spine.

“It depends,” Bilbo said, airier than he was actually feeling. “Are you going to be horrid like you were last time?”

“No.”

“No? Unequivocally no?”

“All I ask is that you make me the same offer you made Bofur.”

It was on the tip of Bilbo’s tongue to say that he had made several offers to Bofur and to ask which one Thorin was referring to, but he remembered that Thorin could only have overheard one.

“Do you want to cuddle?” Bilbo asked.

“Yes.”

Thorin took off his coat, boots, and armor, and slid into bed next to Bilbo. He stretched out his arm and Bilbo pillowed his head on it. Thorin wrapped his other arm around Bilbo and Bilbo drifted into sleep happier than he had been in some time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update this time, but I've finally gotten back in the groove of writing. I should have the next chapter of Room for Rent up tonight or tomorrow, and a whole new story by tomorrow or the day after.
> 
> Also, I saw the final movie and I am so disappointed. :( I kinda wish I still had a tumblr so I could write a nice, long rant about it. I expected to bawl my eyes out in front of my family when everybody died but my internal monologue was "What the fuck?" on repeat. Seriously, my biggest takeaway is that Legolas has a mom now.

No time at all seemed to pass from the moment Bilbo closed his eyes to the time Thorin was gently shaking him and murmuring, “Bilbo. Bilbo. It’s time to rise.”

Bilbo moaned and opened his eyes. It was still dark outside. The candle had burned low, giving off only meager light. Bilbo stretched and immediately regretted it. He winced and tried to get up. Pain shot through his hips and his knees nearly buckled when they touched the ground. He made a pathetic little noise before he remembered that Thorin was there and his cheeks heated up.

“Sorry. Just a bit sore,” Bilbo said.

“I could ease your soreness, if you like,” Thorin said. His voice and face was steady and neutral. Bilbo wasn’t sure what to make of it. If there was one thing he had learned traveling with Thorin’s Company, it is that dwarf remedies were often worse than the ailments that necessitated them.

“If that wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Bilbo said, taking a gamble on whatever Thorin would foist upon him.

“Take off your shirt and lay on your stomach,” Thorin said. Bilbo hesitated for a moment, but did as Thorin instructed. “This is going to hurt,” he warned Bilbo.

“What are you going to—OW! OW! What are you doing, thAT HURTS!” Bilbo’s voice rose almost to a shriek when Thorin kneaded a particularly sore area.

“I did say that,” Thorin told him as he continued to knead Bilbo’s back.

At this point Bilbo realized that Thorin must think that he was giving Bilbo a massage, but it felt more like he was being pulped like a lump of dough being kneaded by a particularly enthusiastic baker’s apprentice.

“Thorin, ThorIN, THEre’s no nEED—”

“You will feel better soon. Trust me.”

Bilbo wondered if this was a little like the time when Otho Sackville-Baggins and he had been faunts and Bilbo had complained about a stubbed toe. Otho had stomped on his other foot and said, “Well, your toe doesn’t hurt so much now, does it?” Bilbo had disliked Otho from that moment forward, and he would be given ample evidence to support his choice later.

“Thorin, dON’T We need to BE GOing?”

“It will be faster if you’re not hampering us by barely being able to walk,” Thorin said. He had apparently finished with Bilbo’s back and moved down to his arse and upper thighs in what was possibly the least erotic touch ever. Bilbo groaned and buried his head into the pillow.

When Thorin had decided that the back side of Bilbo’s body had been pulverized enough, he flipped Bilbo over and started working on the front side of his legs. Bilbo hissed in pain, but Thorin ignored it like he had all of Bilbo’s outbursts.

“All right. Try to stand up now,” Thorin said. Bilbo gingerly hauled himself into a seated position and then stood up. Miraculously, his limbs worked now. He was definitely sorer than he had been when he woke up, but he could walk without problems now.

“Wow! Thank you, Thorin,” he said.

“It was nothing,” Thorin said. His voice had changed to its customary haughty formality and he wasn’t looking at Bilbo. He handed Bilbo his pack, and they went to meet the others.

The rest of the company were gathered already, standing in the hallway and munching on what they had scrounged up for breakfast. A hush was over Rivendell. It was time for the night animals to retire, but not quite time for the morning animals to rise. Bilbo took his portion of breakfast from Bombur and practically inhaled it.

“Are we ready?” Thorin asked. A murmur of affirmation rose from the company, so Thorin led them out of Rivendell.

 

So intent on his breakfast, Bilbo hadn’t noticed that Fíli and Kíli had flanked him until Fíli said, “So.”

Bilbo had to fight the urge to snarl at them like a food aggressive dog. “So?” he replied

“You and Thorin,” Fíli said.

“Me and Thorin what?” Bilbo asked warily.

“Did you _sleep_ together?” Kíli burst out.

Fíli sighed. “I was working up to that, Kíli.”

“Listen up, the two of you. It is absolutely no business of yours what your uncle and I do,” Bilbo said.

“So you did?” Kíli asked, his face brightening and then falling. “But he still looks so grumpy! You were supposed to sleep with him and un-grump him!”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“We thought that it would, you know, improve his mood. Yours too,” Fíli said.

“ _What—_ ”

“But he’s still grumpy! And mad at Bofur, for some reason,” Kíli said.

“What makes you think that?” Bilbo asked.

“Because he has his grumpy face on!”

“No, I meant what makes you think he’s mad at Bofur?”

“Because he keeps glaring at him,” Fíli said.

“But now that someone else is in Thorin’s bad graces, we won’t have to do the worst chores now!” Kíli enthused.

“Is Thorin…is he jealous?” Bilbo asked.

Fíli and Kíli shared a glance over Bilbo’s head. “That would explain it,” Fíli said slowly.

Bilbo sighed and wrung his hands.

“Are you making him jealous on purpose?” Fíli asked.

“No,” Bilbo said. Then an idea hit him. “But I might start.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Do Dwalin first!” Kíli urged. The trio were bringing up the rear of the Company, lagging behind the others in their efforts to not be overheard.

“Why?” Bilbo asked.

“I always wanted to know who would win in a real fight.”

“But I don’t want them to fight!”

“Why not? Wouldn’t it be romantic?” Fíli asked.

Bilbo thought about it for a moment. If this was a novel, he would think it very romantic. But of course, when people went on adventures in books it also seemed very romantic, and Bilbo knew firsthand that it was nothing of the sort. Besides, what if one of them really got hurt? They’d have to go back to Rivendell, and Bilbo wasn’t sure if Thorin’s stubbornness and distaste for elves might not outweigh his concern, especially if he was the one injured.

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Bilbo said.

“Aww,” Kíli pouted.

“I don’t know why you’d want anyone to get hurt either,” Bilbo said sharply.

“I don’t want them to get hurt! At least, not badly. I just want to see them fight for real.”

“I’m sure you’ll get your chance to see Thorin and Dwalin fighting before this quest is over,” Bilbo said.

“But not against each other!”

“If Thorin really loves you, then he’d fight for you,” Fíli broke in and said.

“There is no need for him to fight Dwalin or anyone else in the company!”

“You’re no fun,” Kíli said.

“Yes, I’m not! Haven’t you figured that out already?” Bilbo said. He sighed. “Look, thank you for your suggestions, but I don’t think starting fights is the best way to go about this.”

“It’s the only way to go about this,” Fíli said. “Thorin’s going to either ignore you or yell at you forever if you don’t force him to express his feelings, and this is the best way.”

Bilbo sighed and closed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” Fíli said.

“We’ve never seen Thorin like this. You’ve changed him,” Kíli added.

“I’m afraid not for the better,” Bilbo said with a sigh.

“What do you mean?” Fíli asked.

“When Thorin first came to me—when I thought he was someone else—he almost did seem to be someone else. Not at all like how he is now.”

“Fíli! Kíli! Master Baggins! Do not fall behind!” Thorin barked at them from the front of the line.

“See?” Bilbo said, pointing at Thorin. “He wasn’t like that at all when he was with me.”

“What was he like, then?” Kíli asked.

“He was…warm. And gentle. And teasing. And…” Bilbo sighed. But it was not born of frustration like his sighs so usually had been lately. It was a happy, dreamy sigh that accompanied a faraway look in his eyes. Those memories did seem far away now, in distance and time, and in Thorin’s attitude. “He was wonderful.”

Fíli and Kíli looked at each other. “Really?” they chorused.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but he really was. I mean, not at first, he had to warm up to me, but once he had…” Bilbo sighed happily again.

“You look smitten!” Kíli said.

Bilbo’s mouth stretched upward in a small smile that hurt his face. He had gotten rather out of the habit of smiling. “I was. But I suppose I’m not anymore. The Thorin I was smitten with is gone more permanently than if he had died.”

“Maybe not,” Fíli said, resting an encouraging hand on Bilbo’s shoulder.

“We’ll help you get him back,” Kíli said.

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Bilbo said, laughing a little at the hopelessness of the situation.

“You know, our mother has said the same thing. That Thorin was different, before. That Smaug and the scorn of men had made him what he is now. That maybe getting Erebor back will change him back to the way he was,” Fíli said.

“That’s a long ways away, and no guarantee,” Bilbo said.

“We know. But we have to try.”

“What was it like?” Bilbo asked.

“Thorin?”

“No, Erebor.”

“We don’t know. We’ve never been there. We were born after Smaug.”

“You mean you’re going on this quest, risking everything, for something you’ve never even seen?” Bilbo asked.

“So are you,” Kíli pointed out.

“We have more reason to be here than you, Mister Baggins, but here we all are,” Fíli said.

“I—I suppose you’re right,” Bilbo said, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands. He had never quite thought of it that was. Why was he here?

“When do you think the next halt will be called?” Kíli asked Fíli.

Fíli snorted. “What next halt? Uncle is going to make us walk until we drop.”

But the weather belied both Fíli’s prediction and Thorin’s wishes. One minute clear skies, the next dark clouds, and the minute after that pouring rain and whipping winds, forcing the Company to seek shelter in a cave.

“Now’s your chance,” Kíli whispered to Bilbo. Everyone was trying to wring out their wet clothes, they were attempting to start a fire, and Thorin was sitting at the back of the cave with the appearance and temper of a wet cat. Dwalin was nearer to the mouth of the cave, close to where Fíli, Kíli, and Bilbo stood.

“Now? But I’d like to—”

The two of them pushed Bilbo into Dwalin.

“Pardon! Pardon!” Bilbo stammered, righting himself.

Dwalin didn’t even look like he’d noticed about seventy pounds of wet hobbit colliding with him. “It’s nothing,” he said.

Suddenly faced with the dwarf, Bilbo realized he had no idea what to say. He had thought himself an accomplished little flirt in the Shire, where food and peace and quiet reigned supreme, but he had the feeling that any advances he made would go quite over Dwalin’s head unless they were very blunt. He had been very forward with Thorin, but there had been dozens of flirtatious letters beforehand, at least on Bilbo’s part, that made it quite easy. His gentle breeding rebelled at a sudden, graphic proposition, though that was probably what Fíli and Kíli were hoping for.

“Um,” Bilbo said.

“Yes?”

“Let’s sit down,” Bilbo said, taking Dwalin’s hand and leading him to a wall of the cave. Almost too late, he realized that Dwalin’s hand would be a good thing to keep, so he did not acquiesce to the slight tugging motions that Dwalin made in an effort to free his hand. If he really wanted to stop holding hands, there wouldn’t be anything Bilbo could do to stop him, but right now Dwalin was giving their intertwined hands a perplexed stare.

His hand was large and rough. It felt a lot like Thorin’s.

“Um, you…you…you have really big hands,” Bilbo said. Not exactly brilliant, wooing poetics, but at least Dwalin was looking at him now.

“And…you have really small ones?” Dwalin said slowly. It was apparent that he had no idea what Bilbo was doing, but at least he was trying to play along. Perhaps he thought it some strange hobbit custom. In fact, that was the excuse Bilbo was going to use if any of this came back to bite him.

“They’re very…very nice,” Bilbo said.

“Thank you?”

Dwalin was looking back down at their hands, wondering if their strange ritual was over. Bilbo needed to come up with something else, quick. What had he said to Thorin? Memory was deserting him at this particular moment, but he was pretty sure that it was something alone the lines of “Hi. Do you wanna fuck?”

“I’m cold!” Bilbo said, lunging at Dwalin and wrapping his arms around him in a hug.

Dwalin’s arms wrapped around Bilbo automatically, but he loosened his grip once the initial surprise was over. “Um. I have a blanket I can lend you, and the fire’s started now—”

“I am quite comfortable here, thank you very much,” Bilbo said, wrapping his legs around Dwalin. He thought about turning the other way, but he didn’t think he could handle being face to face with Thorin in this position.

“Bilbo looks quite snug!” Fíli announced a little too loudly.

Bilbo could just picture what was happening. The Company would look at Bilbo out of curiosity, but their stares would become more pronounced once they saw the position Bilbo was in. He imagined Thorin’s face in particular. He would be looking down, a scowl on his face, as he tried to wring out his hair. He would wonder at the sudden silence, and his eyes would drift towards Bilbo. His hands would stop suddenly. Or would they twist violently, wringing out water like he wanted to wring Dwalin’s neck? Bilbo’s face and back were hot.

But maybe Thorin wouldn’t care at all. Maybe he would look and dismiss Bilbo once and for all. That wouldn’t be the worst possible ending to this affair.

“Thorin, don’t you—wumph!”Kili started to stay before his brother silence him, with what sounded like a thump to the chest.

No one said anything. Bilbo could hear the sound of the rain and the thunder, and even the soft crackling of the fire, but there was no indication that anything living was in this cave.

Dwalin grabbed Bilbo by the back of his collar, making Bilbo squeak, and lifted him in the air. He involuntarily clutched Dwalin harder. Dwalin set him down somewhere warm and unyielding, and when Bilbo looked up his eyes met Thorin’s. His wet hair hung down in tendrils, tickling Bilbo’s face as Thorin looked down at him. His jaw was tight and his throat was tensed, but other than these subtle cues, Thorin’s face was blank. It frightened Bilbo. Thorin had been angry at him—quite often—and he had been callous to Bilbo, but he had never given him this blank stare.

Thorin pushed Bilbo out of his lap, almost somersaulting him into the fire. Thankfully, someone stopped him from becoming hobbit flambé just in time.

Bilbo righted himself, standing up. Now would be an excellent time to take a walk, but in this weather it would be more like a swim. Bilbo opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say, but Thorin stood up and Bilbo’s scattered thoughts fled him. However, he did not advance towards Bilbo. Instead, he turned his back and walked to the very back of the cave and sat himself down facing the rock wall. Bilbo couldn’t help but think that it looked rather like Thorin had put himself in time-out.

The others were still staring at him. Bilbo cleared his throat and felt his cheeks heat up. But there was nothing he could say, so he went and sat between Fíli and Kíli.

Fíli was giving Thorin’s back a thoughtful stare and Kíli was squinting at his uncle as well. Bilbo wanted to look anywhere but Thorin. His eyes accidentally caught Balin’s and he cringed at the look on his face. It was a look that promised a nice, long talk somewhere in the near future. Yes, this had been a terrible idea, he didn’t need to tell Bilbo, he had thought that from the start. He needed to tell that Fíli and Kíli. Bilbo was reminded to smack the pair.

“Ow!” Kíli said. They were both looking at him now, and Bilbo unleashed the full power of his glare on them. He was going to make them answer to Balin as well.


	12. Chapter 12

The Company endured an uncomfortable hour in while they waited for the rain to pass. Feeling a deep, sucking pit in the bottom of his stomach, Bilbo laid down and curled up facing the wall and tried not to think of anything. He didn’t hear Thorin’s voice and he didn’t dare look over at him until the rain had stopped and Thorin called for their march to resume.

Bilbo resumed his place between Fíli and Kíli at the back of the line, the only place he could bear to be right now. He had the feeling that any other dwarf would try to draw him into conversation, and he wasn’t sure whether discussing what had happened would be worse than pretending that it didn’t. He had seen their faces. There were many things that he did not know about dwarves, and the depth of their jealousy seemed to be one. There had been shock, disapproval, even censure, in their faces and Bilbo wished he had just died. Or had never come here in the first place with thirteen unfamiliar, unfriendly dwarves. He wished that Gandalf was with them. Surely he could do something, even if it was just informing Bilbo that he was an idiot and smoke his pipe.

Bilbo’s thoughts circled endlessly like water swirling around a drain, always on the verge of being sucking into that black pit, until the halt for the night was called. Bilbo had been given no chores, so his plan was to pretend to be asleep until dinner, have dinner, and then actually go to sleep. Those plans crumbled like chalk underneath his hands when Balin gave him another one of those significant looks. Thorin had assigned himself wood-gathering duty, and a quick glance confirmed that Dwalin was nowhere to be found, so it was high time for a Talk.

Bilbo sat down in front of Balin, avoiding his gaze, and Fíli and Kíli sat on either side of him, looking like guilty children about to reprimanded for their naughtiness. That was exactly what was going to happen, in fact. It was sometimes hard to remember that Fíli and Kíli practically were children, straddling the cusp of maturity and very often falling off into childishness again. Why, oh why had he ever taken advice from them?

“Fíli and Kíli said it would be a good idea,” Bilbo murmured, immediately throwing his partners-in-crime under the bus.

“Hey!” Kíli said.

Balin sighed. “Laddie, if Fíli and Kíli think it’s a good idea, that means it’s a terrible idea.”

“Hey!” Fíli said.

“We do have good ideas sometimes!” Kíli said

“Name one,” Balin said.

“There was that…no, that wasn’t a good idea,” Fíli said.

“That one time we—oh, wait,” Kíli said.

The two of them put their thinking faces on, but they couldn’t seem to come up with a plan of theirs that had actually been a good idea. Dear heavens. Bilbo had been a fool.

“That’s what I thought,” Balin said. “Go back to your places. I will think up a suitable punishment later.”

They went a little too eagerly, until Balin called after them, “And stay in your places. No wandering off.”

“But we wanted to see Thorin and Dwalin fight!” Kili immediately whined.

“Laddie, he’s going to hurt you if either of you get anywhere near him.”

Fíli and Kíli looked like they hadn’t thought of that. Balin waved them away, and they say back down with a pout.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said, hugging his knees to his chest.

“It’s not me that you need to apologize to,” Balin said.

“I know, but it’s not like I can apologize to him!”

“I think you can, though. He might not take it gracefully, but he will appreciate it.”

Bilbo make little patterns with his finger in the dirt. With a start, he realized that he had drawn Thorin’s rune. His mind often traced it ever since he had known what it was, but he hadn’t expected it to pop up right now. He covered it with dirt, sighed, and stood up. “I’ll go find him.”

“Good lad,” Balin said with approval.

 

***

 

Thorin heard the crunch of leaves and twigs under Dwalin’s boot and gritted his teeth. He added another log to his handful with deliberate calm, but he probably wasn’t fooling Dwalin. He would recognize the tense line of Thorin’s body. Thorin waited for Dwalin to speak as he continued gathering wood, but he didn’t. Apparently he wanted Thorin to be the first one. He should be more careful what he wished for.

Thorin threw down the logs he was carrying and stalked up to Dwalin, grabbing him by the front of his jacket. “What do you want from me?” he hissed.

Dwalin was unperturbed. “You know, I’ve been your punching bag enough during this little ill-fated romance of yours. I’m not going to just let you hit me again.”

Thorin raised his hand to strike Dwalin, quick as a snake, but Dwalin caught it in his unyielding grip. Thorin used the leverage to slam Dwalin to the ground, falling on top of him.

Dwalin was quick to reverse their positions, throwing Thorin hard enough onto the ground to make his teeth rattle.

“He’s mine,” Thorin snarled, standing up.

“He doesn’t act like he’s yours,” Dwalin said.

Thorin roared and tackled Dwalin, sending both of them to the ground again. Thorin started punching him before he even hit the ground, but only got one good hit in before Dwalin diverted his arm, wrenching it painfully in its socket. Dwalin held Thorin’s arm behind his back and was going to do the same to the other, but Thorin rolled suddenly, freeing his arm. When Thorin came back onto his knees, Dwalin had a blow waiting for him, connecting to his eye. Thorin’s vision blacked out for a moment and pain licked hot trails up and down the side of his face.

Dwalin was on the offensive now, and he took advantage of Thorin’s momentary stunning to punch him again. Thorin fell flat onto his back from the force of the blow, but rolled out of the way just in time so that Dwalin couldn’t get on top of him and gain the upper hand.

Thorin sat up on his knees, breathing heavily. He could taste blood in his mouth, and licked his lips to discover that Dwalin’s last blow had split one of them. Dwalin faced Thorin, looking much calmer and not even breathing heavily.

“Don’t you ever touch him,” Thorin said. He had meant to growl it out in warning, but high emotion constricted his throat and made it sound almost strangled.

“He touched me.”

Thorin lunged for Dwalin again, and this time Dwalin hit him right in the stomach, using Thorin’s momentum against him and knocking all the air out of his lungs. It had been a stupid, stupid move, exactly what Dwalin had wanted him to do. Had Thorin learned nothing in all his years of training? One axiom from his training sprung unbidden into his mind: Do not fight in anger.

They started to grapple again, hands and bodies pressed together, and for a moment Thorin wished Dwalin was Bilbo instead. But in Thorin’s brief flash of imagination, he did not know whether or not they were loving or fighting.

Usually they were about evenly matched for strength, but Thorin found himself crumpling under the pressure Dwalin applied. He snarled and tried to push back, but Dwalin pushed even harder and suddenly Thorin’s arms were pinned and Dwalin was on top of him. He had won.

Thorin heard nothing but his own panting breaths loud in his ears. His face felt wet, and after and abortive attempt to wipe whatever it was from his face where he realized his arms were still pinned, he realized he was crying. His breaths became shakier, trembling in his chest.

“Feeling better?” Dwalin asked.

“No,” Thorin said.

Dwalin let go of him and they sat side by side. Thorin wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to make the lump in his throat go down.

“I hate what he makes me into,” Thorin said.

“And what exactly is that?” Dwalin asked.

“This! Someone who cries over nothing. Who quarrels with his friends with no good cause.”

“You really aren’t handling being in love too well, are you?”

“Love?” Thorin asked. The weight of the word was heavier than entire mountains.

“We have feared such for a long time, and I’m afraid you’ve just confirmed it.”

At first Thorin thought that one of the trees in the clearing had fallen on top of him, but the he realized that it was just his entire world crashing around his ears.

Thorin let out a shaky laugh. He did not know why he was laughing. There was nothing funny about having thrown away his only chance at love with some hobbit who despised him. “Have I lost my only heart to some burglar?”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, you can say that he stole it,” Dwalin said.

Thorin laughed again, even though what Dwalin had said was not funny.

“This is it. The only person I will ever love, and it’s Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin said, hysteria creeping into his voice. He looked at Dwalin. “I did not want this.”

Dwalin shrugged. “Sometimes love works that way.”

“What would you know?” Thorin asked, laughter turning to tears. He hid his head in his hands and Dwalin rubbed his back until Thorin’s eyes were empty.

“You know, if you’d quit fighting it, you’d realize that it’s not so bad,” Dwalin said.

“But what if he does not love me?” Thorin asked.

“I think that he does.”

“He had better.” Thorin’s voice was so dark and possessive that it took Dwalin aback.

Thorin stood up and collected the discarded wood. Dwalin took one last long look at him before heading back to camp.


	13. Chapter 13

Bilbo wandered off in the general direction that Thorin had gone and hoped that they would somehow bump into each other. That actually sounded like a terrible plan, but Bilbo didn’t actually have a better one. He hoped that he wouldn’t get lost. That would be just like him. Go off to apologize to Thorin, get lost and force everyone to search for him, or worse, get kidnapped by orcs or something. Thorin would be in no mood to accept his apologies then.

But fate was smiling on him. He heard the sounds of someone approaching, and it was Thorin. He looked surprised to see Bilbo, and all of a sudden Bilbo felt very shy.

“I. Um. I want to…to apologize to you.”

Thorin tilted his head, not saying anything. Bilbo felt his heart beat faster for no reason he could discern. Then Thorin dropped the wood he was carrying, stepped over it, and approached Bilbo. There was a fierce glint in his eyes and a feral twist to his mouth. Bilbo stepped back involuntarily, but Thorin grabbed Bilbo and pulled him into a fierce kiss. Bilbo gasped, and Thorin forced his tongue inside. Bilbo could taste blood and salt.

It was utterly unlike any kiss that they had shared before—utterly unlike any kiss that Bilbo had ever shared with anybody before. Bilbo felt that he had had sex less penetrative, that had left him less raw and naked in another’s hands. He moaned and gabbed the lapels of Thorin’s coat as his knees wobbled underneath him.

Thorin growled into his mouth and picked Bilbo up. His legs wrapped around Thorin’s waist and his fingers tangled in his hair as Bilbo finally started to kiss him back. Oh, yes. He had wanted this. Any fantasies he had ever had of roughness and passion crumbled in the face of the real thing.

Bilbo was positively dizzy. Whether it was from the taste or the smell of Thorin, the kiss, or something else, he couldn’t tell. They were moving and Bilbo felt his back his something suddenly, the rough bark of a tree. He was pressed between Thorin and the tree, and Thorin broke away to bite Bilbo’s neck. Bilbo wasn’t sure if he was trying to devour him or love him, but he stopped thinking about it when Thorin put his fingers in his mouth to suckle on.

Thorin was grinding against him, their erections pressing together and sending sharp jolts of arousal through Bilbo. His hands drifted down from Thorin’s hair to his back where he clutched Thorin’s coat. Thorin braced Bilbo with his body and pulled down Bilbo’s trousers. They were going to do this here? Bilbo was sure that even the ground would be more comfortable than against a tree, but those thoughts fled from his mind when Thorin started stroking him. His fingers skimmed over Bilbo’s hole, making a lazy circuit and pressing in slightly.

Thorin took his fingers out of Bilbo’s mouth and moved them down below to open him up. This was not gentle, slow, or explorative, but rather the bare minimum to keep from injuring Bilbo. Before he had fully adjusted to one finger, there was another one pressing into him. Bilbo was all for speed, but he was not into pain. He pulled out a little vial of oil from his waistcoat pocket and pressed it to Thorin. Thorin didn’t even notice it until Bilbo presented it more forcefully, and even then Thorin just stared at it without comprehension for a few long seconds with his pupils blown. Then the dots connected, and he unstoppered the lid, withdrawing his fingers and dribbling oil on them. Thorin’s fingers resumed their invasion, still as filling as before but rather more pleasurable for the slick. Bilbo took the oil back and undid Thorin’s belt. After that, there were only a few measly laces separating Bilbo from his prize. Thorin’s cock was almost an angry red, with sullen spurts of precome drenching the head. Bilbo stroked it with oil coated fingers, feeling it throb and expand under his hand.

Thorin’s breaths were loud, and the look he was giving Bilbo was almost frightening. He had never seen Thorin look like that. It was not just lust he was seeing, nor was it anger. Bilbo didn’t know what it was, but it frightened some small part of him, the only part not moaning in ecstasy right now.

The only warning Bilbo got was Thorin suddenly canting his hips upward before he was inside him. Bilbo gasped for air, trying to adjust to the sudden intrusion. But Thorin started thrusting immediately, not giving Bilbo any time to adjust. Bilbo cried out and dug his fingers into Thorin’s back, but it didn’t slow Thorin down.

“Thorin! Thorin!” Bilbo said.

Thorin looked up at Bilbo. His mouth was almost set in a snarl, with his teeth showing. “You are mine.”

“Mmhm,” Bilbo said.

“Don’t even think about touching anyone else ever again. This,” he said, grabbing Bilbo’s cock, “is mine. This,” he said, giving Bilbo and extra hard thrust that made him cry out, “is mine. Do you understand?”

Bilbo gasped and nodded.

“Good,” Thorin growled, and fucked him harder.

There was pleasure there, sure, but it was not the kind that Bilbo was used to. This was rougher than he usually liked, but he was so desperate that it didn’t matter right now to him. There would time later for long, slow lovemaking, but right now, Thorin needed this.

“I—oh! Love, love—” Bilbo said.

“What?” Thorin asked. His hips slowed and he looked up at Bilbo, his eyes wide.

“Don’t stop!” Bilbo whimpered, clutching at Thorin’s back tighter.

“What did you say?” Thorin asked again, stopping entirely.

“I didn’t say anything!” Bilbo said, trying to get Thorin to move again.

“Were you going to say that you loved me?” Thorin’s voice was rough and raw, but it was not rough and raw like their sex had been. He cupped Bilbo’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. What Bilbo saw there terrified him more than anything else he had seen on Thorin’s face before. More than anything Bilbo had ever seen in his life. There was vulnerability there, and Bilbo was suddenly aware of the heavy burden he unknowingly possessed—Thorin’s heart.

Bilbo buried his face in Thorin’s chest. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

Thorin was silent for a long time. Bilbo could hear the rapid thump of his heart, but that did not reassure him that he had not broken it.

“Then I will convince you,” Thorin said suddenly. His hands found Bilbo’s face again and Bilbo stared up at him. There was something bright about Thorin’s face, like the sun had come out from behind a cloud. “I will win your heart.”

He kissed Bilbo again, sweetly and full of promise. Then his hips started moving again, and the kiss changed to devouring. The wave of arousal that had almost left Bilbo came back in full force force, sloshing against his insides with liquid heat. They built to a peak more quickly this time.

Thorin slipped his wonderfully large, calloused hand into Bilbo’s trousers, freeing his cock. “Come for me,” he murmured, his breath hot on Bilbo’s ear as he stroked his cock.

It was all too easy for Bilbo to obey Thorin’s instructions. He had been cresting on the wave of pleasure for too long, and now came the fall. He clutched Thorin even harder, probably leaving marks on his skin even through the layers of clothes, and moaned as he spent into Thorin’s hand. Moments later, Bilbo felt an answering wetness inside of him, and Thorin’s strangely soft cry.

The were still for a few minute, basking in the warm of each other’s presence as much as the afterglow of sex.

“Did you mean it?” Bilbo asked.

“I meant it,” Thorin said. “I will earn your love, whatever it takes.”


	14. Chapter 14

Thorin’s hand was warm in Bilbo’s as they walked back to camp in silence. Bilbo snuck a glance at Thorin, meeting Thorin’s steady gaze. Bilbo almost turned away, blushing, but forced himself to look at Thorin. Why was he so nervous? There was no reason for him to be. He and Thorin had been much more intimate before, so why were Bilbo’s palms sweating now?

“So…you’re courting me now, I suppose?” Bilbo said, holding up their linked hands.

“Yes.” He squeezed Bilbo’s hand and Bilbo felt his cheeks heat up again.

The burning only grew worse when they entered camp. It seemed like everyone’s eyes went straight to his and Thorin’s clasped hands. Words of denial rose in Bilbo’s throat, but Thorin spoke instead.

“I am courting Master Baggins now,” he announced, making it sound like a royal proclamation to be obeyed.

Kíli’s face puckered into a frown. “Weren’t you doing that before?”

If that was what Thorin had been doing before, Bilbo certainly didn’t want him to be doing that now. Thorin must have seen that in Bilbo’s face, for he made haste to reassure him. “No. I will court him properly now.”

For his first act of proper courting, Thorin sat down and gently guided Bilbo onto his lap, but somehow Bilbo managed to collapse on top of him gracelessly and with an undignified squeak. Thorin’s arm came down around Bilbo, a secure bar keeping him in place. Thorin snuggled closer to Bilbo, fitting their bodies together. He leaned his head on Bilbo’s shoulder and pressed their cheeks together. Somehow it was far more intimate a touch than anything else had been, and Bilbo wasn’t sure what to do. His fingers traced up and down Thorin’s vambraces like pale, dancing spiders, more out of a need for movement than any attempt at affection. Bilbo turned his head, but Thorin was so close that he only succeeded in bumping noses with him. Thorin’s lips were parted, as if he were about to kiss Bilbo, but he pursed them instead.

Bilbo was agonizingly aware of every little thing about Thorin. He could see the individual hairs of Thorin’s eyebrows and eyelashes, every whisker on his cheek, the dirt on his face and the twigs in his hair. He needed a bath. They all did.

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked. Bilbo could feel the vibrations rumbling in Thorin’s chest as he spoke.

“Supper’s ready!” Bofur announced, and Bilbo shot up like a cat about to be given a bath. Or he tried to, at least. Thorin’s arm held him in place, so Bilbo’s attempt at escape was about as effective as the thrashes of a hooked fish.

Thorin looked down at Bilbo in surprise. “Where are you going?”

“Supper,” Bilbo said.

“It will be brought to you,” Thorin said in that tone of royal command again, putting Bilbo back into snuggle position.

So Bilbo stayed within Thorin’s iron embrace and his supper was delivered to him. He took to drumming his fingers on Thorin’s arm, the tension within him coiled as tight as a spring. Bilbo ate in silence. Everyone was speaking around Bilbo, but not to Bilbo. They even stopped looking at him after that first time. Bilbo wondered what he should say to Thorin. Thorin wasn’t big on the desultory sort of chat that hobbits expected to have with their meal. At least Thorin had to loosen his grip a bit to eat, so Bilbo did not have that constricting him.

“Lovely night,” Bilbo asked, finally unable to bear it anymore.

“A bit chilly,” Thorin said after a short pause.

“It’ll probably be warm tomorrow.”

“Probably.”

“Yes. Probably,” Bilbo said. Thorin, presumably having exhausted his supply of useless conversation for the day, didn’t reply. He finished his stew, so he set his bowl and spoon on the ground and his arm came around Bilbo again. Bilbo stiffened unintentionally and then wondered if Thorin had noticed. Closeness was nice, but this…wasn’t nice. It felt more like Thorin was his guard or his jailer than his lover.

After dinner came smoking. Bilbo was permitted to leave Thorin to get his pipe, but when he tried to sit down beside Thorin, Thorin pulled him down into his lap instead.

“Oh. Um. Thorin, you’re, uh…a little warm,” Bilbo said.

Thorin looked at him blankly. “Warm?”

“You know. Body heat. Pressing up against me. I’m too hot.”

Thorin looked at his strangely, like if he was trying to evaluate if this was some sex euphemism for hobbits that he wasn’t aware of. Eventually he decided to take it in the literal sense and said, “But the night air is cool, and it will only be getting colder.”

“I know that. But I’m hot now, you see? Just give me some time to cool down. Alone. On the ground. Without you.”

Thorin frowned and there was a slight obstinate set to his mouth that Bilbo despaired of, but after a few moments that evened out and Thorin let go of Bilbo. Bilbo scrambled down, taking a spot beside Thorin close enough to assume intimacy, but not close enough to where they were actually touching or sharing heat.

Bilbo started puffing at his pipe furiously with all the newfound air he had in his lungs. Thorin was smoking at a more sedate pace. He took a long draw of his pipe and blew out a smoke ring at Bilbo. Bilbo made a smoke ring as well, sending it inside of Thorin’s. Bilbo laughed, though he wasn’t sure why. Thorin smiled for one breathtaking moment, but it was gone quickly. Some happiness lingered at the corners of his mouth, though, softening Thorin’s usually stern expression.

It occurred to Bilbo that he had absolutely no idea what to expect out of a dwarf courtship. Was the attached-at-the-hip thing expected? Required? Had he offended Thorin? Thorin didn’t look offended. He looked more bemused than anything. Bilbo needed to ask Balin or someone what was expected. Dwarves probably courted completely different from hobbits, and if Bilbo wasn’t prepared then there would probably be some rather nasty surprises waiting in store for him. Or it could be something that Bilbo thought was completely insignificant that was actually very important to Thorin and Thorin would end up offended and upset and this quest would go back to being miserable again. He definitely needed to slip away tomorrow and have a chat with Balin—if Thorin would let him.

Thorin was right about the night air. It was cold, and the moment the first shiver wracked Bilbo’s body, he knew that he needed to go back to Thorin. He had seen it and would be expecting Bilbo to come back, so Bilbo dutifully reported for mandatory snuggle time. Thorin was nice and toasty, and he started rubbing the exposed bits of Bilbo’s skin with those warm, calloused hands, warming Bilbo up. It was actually quite soothing, and Bilbo felt himself relax against Thorin and almost started to drowse.

In his half-asleep state, Bilbo was marginally aware of Thorin’s hands caressing his calves, working their way lower and lower until…Bilbo started suddenly, startling Thorin.

“What?” Thorin asked.

“Feet,” Bilbo said.

Thorin’s eyes went wide in recognition. “I remember now. You must accept my apologies, Bilbo,” he said, gripping Bilbo’s forearms tightly. Bilbo wasn’t sure if his strength was born out of an earnest desire to be forgiven or a reminder that things would become unpleasant if all was not forgiven between them.

“It was an honest mistake,” Bilbo said placatingly while trying to twist out of Thorin’s hold. “You’ve quite put me to sleep. I’m going to retire to bed.”

Thorin released him, but to Bilbo’s dismay, he followed Bilbo to his bedroll, picked up his pack, and went back to where his own pack was. There not being anything else to do, Bilbo followed Thorin.

Thorin spread his own blanket on the ground, arranged their packs at the head of their makeshift bed for pillows, and laid down with his arms open and welcoming for Bilbo. The bedroll wasn’t quite big enough for the two of them, even laying on their sides, so Bilbo had to snuggle up closely with Thorin. Thorin’s arms went around him tightly again, and his legs got into play too. He hooked one of them over Bilbo’s legs possessively, and the other snuck its way in between Bilbo’s legs, high enough up so that Bilbo squeaked when it settled into place. He nestled his head into Bilbo’s neck, where Bilbo could constantly feel puffs of warm air on his neck.

It was comfortable, enough so that Bilbo could ignore the lurking disquiet inside his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating for...five months? Jesus. 
> 
> I'm going through a really miserable time right now, and even when I do have the time/energy to work on my fics, I don't remember what I wanted to do or why, and I can't remember why I even like this pairing anymore. I don't want to abandon this and just leave you guys hanging, but I legit have no idea how to end it and I'm pretty sure that this is going to take a screeching U-turn for the worse. 
> 
> So, yeah. Sorry for everything.


End file.
